


The House that Edward Built: Chris and Edward

by chris_edward (hwshipper)



Series: The Chris 'Verse [4]
Category: House M.D., No Fandom
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Anonymous Sex, Attempted Rape, Barebacking, Casual Sex, Double Penetration, Drugs, Exhibitionism, Group Sex, Leather Kink, M/M, Original Character Death(s), POV Original Character, Phone Sex, Promiscuity, Rimming, Semipublic Sex, Sexual Violence, Teenage sexuality, Threesome - Slash, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-23
Updated: 2009-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-07 18:59:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 67,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hwshipper/pseuds/chris_edward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Chris and his relationship with the love of his life, Edward, two original male characters from my House/Wilson fic 'verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The House That Edward Built

**Author's Note:**

> If you're only interested in House &amp; Wilson, their main appearance is in chapter 5. House appears briefly in chapter 6, and there's an oblique reference to House in chapter 13, too.
> 
> This fic is full of explicit non-monogamous male/male sex, including threesomes, voyeurism, casual sex, unprotected sex and a touch of light kink. Individual chapters have warnings for their specific content.
> 
> **Beta**: much gratitude for the enthusiasm and painstaking work of [](http://srsly-yes.livejournal.com/profile)[**srsly_yes**](http://srsly-yes.livejournal.com/).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sappy fluffy love story. The start of the Chris/Edward backstory; they meet, click and gradually get together.

Chris stood looking out to sea, standing just far enough out so the small waves ran short of his feet. He was the proud new owner of the plot of land beneath his feet, and delighted with his purchase; a large swathe of soil and beach running right down to the sea, running back to a patch of scrub with pine trees, and large rocks forming natural boundaries to the coast on either side.

All it lacked was a house to live in, and he was finally able to move on this. Chris glanced at his watch. His potential architect should have arrived five minutes ago, actually. But it wasn't a problem, it was quite a pleasant day to wait.

He heard the sound of an engine, and looked backwards to see a car pulling onto the dirt track from the road, parking next to his own motorcycle. This must be the architect; good. Chris hadn't met him before, but he worked for a reputable firm, and had come recommended by the friend of a friend.

Chris turned his attention back to the horizon, scanning for boats, and a minute later a man came scrambling down the beach towards him.

"Hey, you must be Chris? I'm Edward--so sorry I'm late." The man was floppy haired, bespectacled and breathless. "I thought I'd left more than enough time to get here, but I kept pulling over to look at beach-side houses along the way, to see what kind of original architecture there is around here. And the sea views kept distracting me, it's so beautiful around here, I didn't realize the time..."

"That's okay, it's no problem," Chris smiled, and Edward smiled back, a small but brilliant smile that lit stars in large brown eyes behind the specs. Chris was enchanted.

They shook hands; Edward's grip was firm and steady. He was wearing a slightly scruffy jacket and a tie that looked like it had been knotted the wrong way round. Chris wondered how old he was, guessing Edward was maybe a year or two younger than himself (he was twenty-seven).

"So, all this land is yours to build a house on?" Edward looked around and his glasses slid down his nose. He pushed them up again. "What an excellent site. Great views. I'm sure we can build something with a fantastic aspect. Did you have anything particular in mind?"

Chris started to explain some of the thoughts he had, and Edward listened, nodding enthusiastically and occasionally interjecting remarks and comments. Chris immediately liked this man; his energy was infectious, his creativity was evident. After a minute Edward dug into a pocket and produced a small notebook and stubby pencil; as he flipped through to find a spare page, Chris noticed he had a grubby left shirt sleeve where he'd scribbled some figures in ink.

Edward noticed him looking and said in a tone of apology, "I was out on a job this morning and just could not find my notebook..."

Chris grinned, instinctively amused and sympathetic. They started to walk up and down the land, continuing to discuss possible layouts for the house. Chris was keen to have it single story, wanted a large kitchen, dining room and living room with sea views.

"And how many bedrooms?" Edward scribbled away.

"Uh, two? Each en suite."

"It's not going to be a, um, family home?" Edward looked up, chocolate eyes fastening on Chris's face, searching. "No... partner around?"

Delicately put, Chris thought. "No, it's just me."

They went on to discuss the area around the house; the necessity for a pool, a patio area for barbecues.

"Give me a few days, I'll rough up some plans," Edward said eventually, having filled several small pages with sketches, measurements and notes made in small, beautifully neat handwriting.

They arranged to meet the following week, and Edward departed with a wave and a smile. Chris watched him go, feeling absurdly happy for no particular reason.

* * *

The following evening, Chris was having dinner at his steakhouse with his old friend Linus, when Linus said suddenly, "How was the architect? The one for your house?"

Linus lived some way up the coast from Chris. He had a wide network of friends and acquaintances in many areas; he had been the one who had passed on the recommendation for Edward.

"He was beautiful," Chris said, to his own surprise, and felt himself blush. "I mean... he was great. Full of ideas, very eager to do the job."

Linus was obviously amused. "Well, let's hope a beautiful architect can design a beautiful home." He leaned back in his chair and sipped his glass of wine, his Hawaiian shirt billowing out around his large belly. "He'll obviously have designs for you. Question is, do you have designs on _him_?"

"Shut up," Chris said, flustered now, and annoyed with himself for being flustered

* * *

At their next meeting the following week, Chris found himself counting down the hours beforehand, combing his hair with special care, and worrying about what to wear. He was taking the bike so he needed leather pants but... which jacket? Was that white T-shirt a bit too obviously clingy? He peered at himself in the mirror. Tall, fair, gray-eyed, Chris usually had great confidence in his own attractiveness... but he felt curiously unsure of himself right now.

Edward was on time this time. Chris was waiting down by the sea in advance again and Edward positively bounded down the scrub towards him, brandishing a large sketchbook.

"Hey, Chris!" Edward looked just the same, perhaps a little scruffier, although his shirt was a dark color and didn't obviously show up any scribblings this time. The dark shirt blended nicely with his brown hair and the eyes behind those spectacles.

"Hey, Edward!" Chris beamed back, running a self-conscious hand through his hair, hoping there wasn't any dirt on his face from the bike ride. He resisted the temptation to reach forward and brush Edward's floppy hair away from his eyes.

The sketchbook was full of different plans and drawings on large pieces of paper. They found a tall flat rock, and Edward spread out the papers on it. They stood looking at each schematic, Edward talking his way through them, pointing around the site at where things would go.

Chris was enthusiastic too, but found it difficult to concentrate on the plans. Instead he was super-aware of Edward standing next to him, just a pace away; watching Edward's arms as he gestured with enthusiasm, Edward's hands brandishing a pencil. Chris really liked this pretty young man... _really_ liked him. What to do about it?... Ask him out?... What if he said no?... What if he wasn't interested?... Chris wasn't used to such doubts. He tended to meet attractive potential partners in clubs and bars where he knew such men would be favorably disposed. Also he was usually in his _own_ club, where the odds of getting turned down were really quite low.

They agreed to a rough layout that Chris was happy with, and Edward promised he'd have detailed designs in another week.

"Are you going back to your office?" Chris asked diffidently. It was fairly late in the afternoon. He felt ridiculously anxious as he went on, "Perhaps we could go for a drink, or... something?"

"I'm not going back to the office, but sorry, I have to get home." Edward dipped his eyes and picked up his sketchbook.

He sounded genuinely regretful, but Chris was abashed; a rejection. He knew he should just back off immediately but something made him ask, "Doing anything nice?"

"My fiancée wants to go through our wedding reception seating plan," Edward muttered, and he wasn't looking at Chris at all now. This was just as well because Chris felt as if he'd been physically slapped in the face. A _fiancée._ Crap. He really had misread this one.

"Well, have fun," Chris just about managed to say, and Edward nodded and headed off to his car.

Chris went home, berating himself. He jerked off in bed that evening to a vision of dark eyes and silky smooth hair; a tight ass around his cock instead of his fist; Edward on top of him, riding him.

* * *

The following week Edward had detailed designs for the house, which Chris was very happy with. He kept his distance this time and was careful to behave professionally. The role of architect might have ended here, but Chris asked Edward to stay on board for the planning permission process, and Edward professed himself delighted to do so.

There was a quiet period where not much seemed to happen, and Chris came close to calling Edward a couple of times, only to shy away from the phone at the last minute. He wondered if Edward had gotten married yet. If they'd been discussing seating plans, it must have been pretty imminent...

Late one afternoon Chris got a call on his cell; Edward, jubilant, they had the necessary planning permits, they could start building, did Chris want to meet? Chris was only too pleased, and they met down at the site an hour later.

Edward was there first this time, and Chris pulled up on his motorbike to see Edward sitting down on the beach, a bottle of champagne and two champagne flutes sitting on a large rock nearby.

"Hey," Chris hailed Edward as he approached.

"Hey!" Edward jumped to his feet and grabbed the bottle. "I thought we should celebrate!"

"Absolutely!" Chris watched as Edward eased the cork deftly out of the bottle. Champagne fizzed merrily, they chinked glasses, and talked in an excited way about Chris's new home.

"I hope you'll stay on and help oversee the construction?" Chris said, deliberately nonchalant, wanting to do anything possible to keep seeing Edward.

"If that's what you want, sure." Edward's glasses slid a little way down his nose. "You've got a builder in mind?"

"Yeah." Chris had a trusted building firm and a project manager, who he had worked with a number of times on rebuilding and renovating the various outlets Chris owned. They had a discussion about the differences involved in building from scratch, Edward chatting about building codes and zoning requirements. They were both perched on the rock now, sitting close together as there wasn't much space. Chris was ultra-aware of Edward's body just inches away, and occasionally touching with an accidental brush of a hand or bump of a shoulder. Chris could feel a hard-on developing gradually, and hoped it wasn't obvious.

It was starting to get dark, and although it wasn't that cold there was something of a chill in the air from the sea. A sharp breeze hit them squarely at one point; Edward involuntarily shivered, and it was all Chris could do not to throw a arm around him for warmth.

"I'd better go," Edward said at last. They'd been sitting there a long time, although Chris felt time had shot past. The champagne was long since gone.

"Yeah," Chris said reluctantly, and Edward turned his head towards Chris, and Chris looked at Edward, and suddenly Chris could hear Edward's breath quickening, feel Edward's breath on his face.

And Chris blotted out his brain to go with raw desire, closing the gap and kissing Edward gently on the mouth.

It was tender, tentative and terribly erotic. Chris could hardly believe it was happening. Edward was hesitant, initially barely moving at all, but then miracle of miracles, he kissed back. Chris felt the soft pursing of lips, the featherlight flick of a tongue--Edward wanted this too.

Chris put a cautious hand on Edward's arm, felt Edward's hand cupping his own neck, drawing them closer. Edward's body so close now--warm, soft skin; Chris wanted to plaster himself to it and never pull away. He moved his hand down Edward's arm, over Edward's hand--  
And felt cold metal on Edward's third finger. A wedding ring.

Chris froze, and the spell was broken.

Edward blushed and pulled away, muttering he had to get home. He hopped off the rock and practically ran up the beach to his car.

Chris sat breathing heavily, watched Edward's car vanishing into the distance, and it felt as if a hand was clenching around his heart. He had blown this one, big time. He'd be lucky if he ever saw his architect again...

He sat on the rock for a while longer, cradling the champagne bottle. Then he hopped off and peered around for the cork; he found it lying on the sand nearby. He took the bottle up to the road and dropped it in a trash can, but put the cork carefully in his jacket pocket.

Feeling the need to share his sorrow, Chris got on his motorcycle and headed for Linus's house. Linus lived in a large extravagant wedding cake of a house further up the coast. Chris rapped on the door, and to his mild surprise, it was answered by a young man with olive skin and bleached blond hair who Chris had never seen before.

"Hey," Chris said, stepping inside. "I'm Chris. Is Linus around?"

"Chris!" boomed a voice, and Linus came tripping down the stairwell. "What ails you?"

"I've lost my architect," Chris said dully, walking through to the expanse of living room.

"The beautiful young man with the fiancée?" Linus rolled his eyes and headed straight for the liquor cabinet. "Don't tell me you made a pass at him."

"I think she's now his wife. And yes, I did. And he fled. I scared him off." Chris was despondent.

Chris slumped on Linus's enormous leather couch for the rest of the evening, and consumed a copious amount of alcohol. At some point he got a consolation blow job from the bleached blond boy (Chris never did find out his name).

* * *

The next morning, Chris took a deep breath and called Edward. He deliberately telephoned Edward's office number rather than his cell.

"Edward, it's Chris, please don't hang up. I wanted to apologize for last night, and let you know that I really hope you'll keep working on my house..."

There was a short silence, and for a minute Chris was afraid he would hear the dial tone; but then Edward's voice came down the line, soft, halting. "I guess. If that's what you want..."

Relief hit Chris in the chest. "Yes, I do. Look, I'll set up a meeting with my builder, okay?"

* * *

So Edward stayed with the project.

Chris did his best to keep his distance, physically and emotionally, and they both resolutely avoided any discussion of what Chris now thought of as _that magical evening_ with the kiss. As the building foundations were laid and walls started to appear, they met on site, discussing design issues with the construction manager, ironing out details, incorporating new ideas.

Chris was aiming for friendship now, and tried to chat with Edward a little, about sports, TV, music, movies. Edward responded readily to this, and they found similar tastes. As time passed, they started hanging out by the shore after weekly site meetings, talking, laughing. Chris found that as well as being cute, Edward was intelligent, witty and entertaining. His creative streak occasionally gave him tunnel vision, and he could be very stubborn when his visualization clashed with the practical considerations of the construction manager. But Edward's obvious passion for his work and enthusiasm for the project was infectious, and Chris was drawn more to Edward every time they met.

"So how did you become an architect?" Chris asked one sunny fall day in the late afternoon, as they walked through the scrub, stamping pine needles underfoot.

"My parents will tell you I was always building stuff when I was young... gigantic Lego constructions in the front room." Edward smiled at the memory, and Chris smiled too. "What about you? How did you end up owning bars and clubs?"

Good question. "I got an inheritance from my parents when I was twenty-one and needed something to invest in; I bought a restaurant, it's now the steakhouse up the coast, and it just went from there." Chris shrugged.

"Your parents died when you were twenty-one?"

"No, they died when I was six." Chris had fond if distant memories of them. "Their money was put in trust and I was brought up by a guardian. She died when I was sixteen and I've been on my own in the world since then."

"No brothers or sisters?"

"Nope. You?"

"I've got a sister." Edward hesitated, and Chris thought Edward was about to say more, but didn't.

Chris figured all this family talk was a bit dangerous anyway, they'd be on to Edward's wife next and that wouldn't do. Chris had deliberately avoided any mention of Edward's wife since _that magical evening_ with the kiss, and he'd noticed that Edward tried not to mention her either. Best change the subject.

"My friend Linus is the closest I've got to family," Chris said lightly.

"He's the guy who passed on the recommendation for me, right?" Edward asked. Chris nodded; Edward looked pleased. "I should meet him, thank him."

"I'm sure he'd love to meet you too," Chris couldn't help but grin, thinking of Linus's weakness for attractive young men. "He's a good guy, I've known him for years. He had a gigantic house custom built for him down the coast a few years ago and complains now that it's too large and grand for him... but actually, it suits him down to the ground. He can be a bit of a drama queen."

"He sounds like a cool friend to have," Edward said, with a smile.

At that moment Chris tripped over an old tree root, and Edward grabbed his arm to stop him falling. Chris regained his footing swiftly, but Edward didn't let go of his arm. Chris stood there a trifle awkwardly, not knowing quite what to do, and then he felt Edward's face brushing his neck, and then soft lips on his cheek.

Chris turned his head to look at Edward, and then they were kissing properly. This time Edward didn't break away and run; this time he stood there while Chris felt firecrackers sparking down his body from his lips to his groin.

"Edward," Chris breathed into Edward's neck, hardly audible, trying to convey the intensity he felt.

Edward didn't say anything, but wrapped his arms around Chris's waist. Chris hugged Edward back, pulling him close.

They stood like that for a little while, bodies close and joined at the lips, until eventually Edward sighed a little and stepped away. And this time Chris didn't feel rejected, but joyful. This time, Chris knew this was not the end.

* * *

"Look who just walked in the door," Linus said, peering over Chris's shoulder. They were at Chris's club, down in the public bar. "Pretty boy, just your type."

Chris shook his head without looking around.

"You're not interested?" Linus said in surprise. "Chris, I swear I can't remember the last time you hooked up with anyone. Which means either you've become a hermit... or you're getting some elsewhere." Chris didn't reply, but Linus didn't need him to. "It's the beautiful architect, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Chris mumbled.

"My God. Not only is it the beautiful architect, but you're not interested in anyone else. Which means... you're in love. Chris, I never thought I'd see the day!"

"Linus, shut up!"

"I have to meet him," Linus rattled on. "Dinner sometime? When?"

"That is so not going to happen." Chris was firm.

"Chris, I'm hurt." Linus let out an exaggerated sniff. "What do you think I'd do?"

"I think you'd take one look at him and try and jump him. And he's nervous, I'm not having him scared off again."

"Chris, you only have to say the word and I won't lay a finger on him," Linus said piously. "And anyway, hold on, isn't there someone else jumping him already? This is the _married _beautiful architect, right?"

Chris couldn't even bear to nod in assent, but Linus understood and nodded for him.

* * *

Chris and Edward fell into a routine of hanging out together surreptitiously after site meetings. The project manager went off with his directions and builders toiled away, while Chris and Edward sloped off into the sand dunes. They strolled around talking, flirting, usually ending up pawing at each other, making out in the late afternoon into evening. Chris knew Edward would leave with an apologetic shrug soon after darkness fell, but it didn't matter because it was all just _so fucking worth it_ for the time they had together.

The first time Chris watched Edward stripping off his shirt in the light of the moon, he wanted to freeze the moment to play it again and again. Chris was sprawled on the sand, looking up; Edward had very pale skin, his nipples were erect and he had almost no chest hair. The moon shone down, illuminating the slope of Edward's shoulders and the outline of his jaw. Dark bushy eyebrows swept enquiringly downwards, and Chris reached wonderingly upwards, scooping this beautiful creature down for a caress.

Early one evening when the house was half built, they were cold out on the beach and at Edward's suggestion, crept into the building site for shelter behind the timbers. The site was fenced and padlocked up, but Chris had a key, and locked the gate shut behind them. Bags of cement stood waiting for use, and sawdust blew around the foundations.

Despite the chill they ended up bucking and twisting on the ground. Clothes were shed, pants too this time, and the sight and feel of Edward's cock hard and under his hand was almost enough to make Chris come on his own. He unzipped his own pants quickly and pressed close up against Edward, their cocks slipping and sliding together with the ooze of pre-come; both of them gasping and rocking until a delicate thumb-roll right on the tip of Chris's shaft brought him over the edge. Edward followed a moment later.

They lay there for a while afterwards, immune to the cold, each basking in the heat of the other.

* * *

"So, when is the beautiful architect arriving?" Linus settled into his chair. "I cannot wait to meet him."

"Any minute now." Chris hoped. He was a little worried Edward might get cold feet and not show.

Edward had finally agreed to what Chris supposed was an actual date in public, as opposed to clandestine meetings at the building site. They were having dinner at the steakhouse with Linus, and then going back to Chris's place for the night. Quite what excuse Edward was giving his wife, Chris didn't know or want to know.

"And how's it going with him?" Linus raised a suggestive eyebrow.

"EBP," Chris answered. _Everything But Penetration. _He knew Linus would get it.

"Interesting." Linus looked speculative. "Because that really would mean he was cheating on his wife, whereas otherwise it's only a fooling around?"

"Very possibly," Chris said, sad at this idea. Edward was definitely shying away from taking that last physical step. At first Chris had assumed this was caution, assumed that Edward just hadn't done it before, but Chris didn't think that any more. Edward was too good at blow jobs, too good at damn well everything else for ass-fucking to be new to him.

Chris's spirits were raised at the sight of Edward at the door, pausing, looking around the room. Chris waved; Edward immediately beamed, and made his way across. Chris would have liked to jump up and greet him with a kiss--this was _his_ restaurant and nobody around would have batted an eyelid--but refrained, fearing this would be too much in public.

Linus was on his feet, however, reaching out to pump Edward's hand vigorously. "You must be Edward. How absolutely splendid to meet you at last."

"Linus? Very nice to meet you too." Edward was a little more formal, hesitant.

As Edward sat down at the table and unwound a long scarf from his neck, his hair fell over his eyes and his spectacles slid down his nose. He brushed his hair back and pushed his glasses up with a self-conscious smile, and Chris saw Linus was already spellbound.

"So, you've designed this house for Chris. Can't wait for it to be finished, Chris has been living far too long in his ghastly rental apartment," Linus began to chatter.

Conversation was easy, Linus was never short of things to say. Edward quickly relaxed and started to chatter back. Chris was pleased; he knew some people found Linus a bit much, but Edward seemed to be coping well. Chris placed a foot carefully up against Edward's foot under the table, and Edward pressed back in reassurance.

"So how long have you two known each other?" Edward asked, spearing a piece of asparagus onto his fork.

Chris and Linus looked at each other. "Eight, nine years?" Chris suggested.

"We knew each other socially for a while, but then we worked together professionally too. I closed on a complicated property deal and ended up owning this piece-of-crap club down by the beach," Linus settled into story-telling mode. "I didn't especially want it, then Chris here came to see me, but he claimed he couldn't afford the full price and also refurbish it. So I said, if you turn it into the kind of place I'd actually want to come to, I'll make you a deal."

Chris continued the story. "So I did. Gutted the place from top to bottom. Turned it around. Created an upstairs private bar where Linus and his friends could hang out..."

"And the rest, as we say, is history." Linus raised a glass and beamed. "You should come along to the club sometime, Edward. If Chris won't invite you up to the private bar, I will."

"Maybe I will," Edward said, smiling back, and Chris was delighted.

Between the main course and dessert, when Edward was out of the room in the bathroom, Linus turned to Chris and said, "I love him. He is one hundred percent _gorgeous_ and absolutely _adorable_. Now, I completely understand you want him exclusively, but--"

"No, you can't have him. Hands off." They'd already had this conversation. "You'll scare him away."

"Of course. Well, if you change your mind, just say." Linus leaned back in his chair and looked contemplative. "It is doomed, you know."

"What do you mean?" Chris knew, but was reluctant to admit it.

"The wife. I know you're intent on sticking your head in the sand as long as possible on this, but sooner or later, he's going to have to choose. And she was there first. And she has the legal rights."

"I don't want to talk about this."

"Fine. I'm just saying..." Linus looked up; Edward had reappeared and was walking back towards them. Linus dropped his voice. "He's going to break your heart."

* * *

"Welcome to my humble abode." Chris closed his front door behind them. Edward looked around the hallway. It was a shabby cheap rental apartment with stark walls and cheap furniture. Chris had sold his previous house some time ago in anticipation of his own custom built home, and had been living out of suitcases ever since.

"No wonder you want a new home," Edward said with a smile.

"This is a roof over my head, that's all," Chris acknowledged.

And that was why they were there; they needed a roof over their heads. It was late in the year and just too cold to be shedding clothes out on the beach any more.

Edward unwound the scarf from round his neck, and Chris found himself ridiculously expecting that it would keep unwinding and unwinding until Edward stood there naked in front of him. Instead of which Edward hung the scarf up on the coat stand, and started to unbutton his coat.

Chris wasn't in the mood for waiting and watching; he'd been doing that all the way through dinner, feeling electricity pulsing from Edward's foot to his under the table. Now they were home, there was no need to wait for anything. He was there immediately, sliding his hands under the coat, wrapping his arms around Edward's torso.

"Whoa." Edward let out an amused snort, and kissed Chris softly on the mouth. Chris kissed back, first gently, then urgently while propelling Edward down the hallway to the bedroom.

They fell onto the bed, necking and pawing each other. Chris plucked open a button to put a hand inside Edward's shirt, and tweaked a nipple; Edward let out a small sound like a squeak, and pushed a thigh between Chris's legs. Chris groaned and rubbed his crotch against Edward's hip. Too many clothes, too many clothes...

They each wriggled out of pants, shrugged off shirts, pulled down boxers. Chris pushed Edward gently over on his side, so he had Edward's back towards him; clutched Edward close to him, burying his face between Edward's shoulder blades. Finally, Edward was here in his bed, horny and naked and panting next to him. He pressed his cock up against Edward's ass-crack. Perhaps this would be the night they got past EBP--

Chris felt Edward suddenly tense in his grip, as if Edward had heard his thought. Chris immediately eased back, but Edward didn't relax. He lay there rigid, and Chris was genuinely concerned.

"Edward?" he murmured into the darkness.

"Gimme a sec," Edward whispered back, and he was actually shaking. Chris stayed where he was, but kept very still. His mind was racing. This wasn't a wife-guilt thing, any more than it was a fear of the new.

Which meant Edward had some other reason to be afraid...

"You had a bad experience with this?" Chris asked, his voice as gentle as he could make it. He rubbed his nose gently against the back of Edward's head, pushing short bristles of hair up the wrong way.

"Yeah," Edward mumbled.

God. Appalling scenarios ran through Chris's mind. _Rape? Child abuse?_ He didn't think so but...

"Not that bad," Edward said, apparently reading his mind. "I had... a relationship in college. Which... wasn't very good."

Chris waited, nuzzling the back of Edward's neck, keeping what he hoped was a soothing and protective hand on Edward's arm. After another minute Edward started to talk.

"I was a freshman and he was a senior, he worked out in the gym, he was very attractive... he picked me up in the middle of the first semester, I was just bowled over. But when he fucked me... he was rough, it hurt." Edward swallowed, and Chris nuzzled the back of his neck very softly. "It always did. He liked it like that, liked _me_ like that. And I'd have done anything for him... I _did_ do anything for him... but it got to the point where he had to stoke me up on alcohol and weed beforehand, or I just couldn't face it. This went on for months..."

Edward's voice trailed away, then came back very quietly, "And then he got bored with me and picked up a new freshman. After that I didn't dare get close to anyone for a long time... and when I did, I stayed away from men..."

"It doesn't have to be like that," Chris said, as strongly as he could while keeping his voice low. He stroked Edward's arm, trying to be calm and comforting, hoping the fury that was boiling inside him wasn't too obvious.

"I know," Edward said in a small, small voice. "But when it comes down to it, I can't quite believe it."

Overwhelmed by this confidence, Chris couldn't say anything for a while. He figured it was enough just to be there. They lay there together for a long time; Chris kept his body very still, trying to be non-threatening.

But his mind was racing, absorbing what Edward had said. Who _was_ this fucker from college who had hurt Edward like this?--if Chris had had him right there he would have killed him. Chris saw a lot of different couples in his club and his bar, he had observed a few abusive and unhealthy relationships like this in his time, and knew how damaging they could be.

And this--_this_\--was why Edward had backed off from men, had started going with women, where he would be the one doing the fucking and not getting fucked. And ended up getting married, for fuck's sake. It took every inch of Chris's willpower to keep still, stay calm and not start punching pillows.

Eventually Chris fell into a doze, semi-dreaming about sports jocks knocking Edward around and himself storming in to knock them around.

After a while he woke to find Edward now relaxed under his arm. He had also shifted backwards so that Chris's cock once again nestled against Edward's tailbone.

"We don't have to do anything you don't want to," Chris felt the need to say, as his erection began to resurrect itself.

"I know," Edward said, and angled his hips so Chris's cock jutted up against Edward's ass. Chris sucked in his breath and grew rapidly hard. Edward tensed briefly, then visibly relaxed, and muttered, "Slow..."

So Edward was willing to do this--had confided in him, was now trusting him--Chris had never felt such pressure. This had to be good. It really did. Otherwise he might frighten Edward back to his wife forever...

Fuck that. Chris was not going to let that happen.

He rolled away to grope in the nightstand for the lube, and slicked up a finger with special care before sliding it up Edward's ass. Edward shook a little, but took it.

"Cold?" Chris asked, trying to introduce a touch of humor. It worked; Edward shook a little again, but with laughter this time.

They finger fucked for some time, Edward's breathing gradually slowing and his body relaxing, unclenching, letting Chris probe and stretch and explore. Eventually Edward's own cock also started to stir, and at this realization Chris became aroused very quickly.

"Ready?" he whispered, feeling slightly silly, but needing to know Edward was there with him.

"Yeah," came the quiet whisper back, and Chris reached away to snap on a condom. He was back a minute later, fingers first and then as all seemed well, easing in with his cock--

_"Fuck,"_ Edward's gasp was loud, and Chris stopped still, momentarily terrified; but then Edward bucked his hips backward, pressing up against Chris's groin, and it was Chris's turn to groan. He pushed back gently, and now they were moving together, fucking slowly but fully now.

The realization that he was inside Edward fully _at last_ almost overwhelmed Chris in itself. He found himself suddenly on fire; pumping and grinding, sweat breaking out on his forehead, trembling with sheer exhilaration and anticipation of imminent ecstasy. He reached around to grasp Edward's cock, wrapping his fist around the shaft; Edward shuddered hard and came there and then, his body convulsing as he ejaculated into Chris's palm.

Chris slithered a slippery hand up and down, thrust hard inside Edward (too hard?)--then felt his own body tip over the edge, jerking and collapsing into orgasmic bliss.

They lay there afterwards for a long time, Chris feeling his heart gradually beating slower as stickiness congealed on the sheets around them. That had been fucking _amazing_\--but he was a little worried, Edward seemed very quiet...

"That was fucking amazing," Edward whispered, and limp now with relief as well as post-coital exhaustion, Chris wrapped an arm around Edward and slid into sleep.

* * *

"I can't believe it's finished at last!" Edward walked through the entrance hall of Chris's new home, looking all around. There were still finishing touches being made all over the place, but the basics were there. The flooring was down, the wall were plastered, the internal doors were in. The plumbing and heating was in, and the bathroom and kitchen were mostly fitted out, although much remained to be done in those rooms. The exterior landscaping was also coming along nicely; there was now a proper cement driveway running off the road, the pool area was dug, and a paved area for barbecues had been marked out.

Chris watched with pleasure as Edward moved through the rooms, taking it all in. Edward stopped to examine a door handle, peered at a window frame, looked outside at the sea view.

"It looks great. I guess you'll be moving onto painting and decorating soon? And tiling the kitchen..."

"I've got my interior designer coming in with designs on Friday. He's already got all the dimensions and everything," Chris said, and hesitated. He'd been psyching himself up to ask this. "I was hoping you'd meet him with me."

Edward raised a quirky eyebrow. "I think the architect's job is done now."

"Yeah. But I was hoping you'd meet him, because I want you to be happy with the way it's done." Chris stopped, then plunged in. "Because I was kinda hoping you might want to live here too."

There was silence. Edward took his glasses off and put them back on again.

"Are you serious?" he asked, at last.

_Never been more serious about anything in my life. _"Yeah." Chris hardly dared look at Edward, was petrified of what he might see, terrified of what answer he might get.

"Give me some time," Edward said eventually, and that was as good as Chris could have hoped for.

* * *

Three days later Chris was at his new house discussing bathroom fittings and swatches with his interior designer, an opinionated guy who always wore bandannas or trailing headscarves, when there came the sound of a car pulling up outside.

Chris didn't move, didn't rush outside, didn't want to be disappointed when it turned out to be a van with a load of earth for the landscaping. He stared at a picture of a bathroom Giuseppe had thrust under his nose. "It's a bit... blue."

"Of course it's blue. You have the sea outside. It matches." Giuseppe threw up an exasperated hand.

And then Edward came in the door, looking pale as death, but composed.

He walked up to them, said, "Hey," to Giuseppe, peered at the bathroom picture, and said, "That's a fantastic shade of blue, I really think we can work with that. Perhaps we can use it a bit more subtly, though? We can use it as a highlight, we don't have to tile the whole wall in it."

Giuseppe looked carefully at Edward, and said, "I like you. You seem more sensible than this idiot here. I think I can work with you. I'm Giuseppe, what's your name?"

"I'm Edward." They shook hands. "I'm the architect who designed this house... and I'm going to be living in it, too."

"Chris, you dark horse," Giuseppe started to rant at Chris, but Chris wasn't listening. He grabbed Edward by the arm and steered him out of the room into the hallway.

"Edward, you--" Chris broke a self-imposed taboo because he had to know. "You've left your wife?"

"Yes." Edward met his eye, then looked away. "It was the most horrible, mean, cruel thing I've ever had to do in my whole life."

"You told her--?"

"I told her I was in love with someone else." Edward still wasn't looking at Chris. "She was very calm, asked _who is she?_ and when I said, _his name's Chris,_ she didn't understand at first, and when she did she went ballistic and started shrieking and throwing things--" He stopped, gulped, then looked up at Chris. "I walked out without taking so much as a toothbrush."

Chris enveloped Edward in as big a hug as he could muster.

Some time later that day, after bathroom tiles had been agreed and Giuseppe had left, Chris and Edward made love on the smooth new floorboards in the living room. They did it on all fours, facing out to sea through the big glass windows; Chris leaning on a chair with legs spread wide; Edward on top this time, rocking, fucking Chris very slowly and very deliberately, eking out as long as possible until neither of them could hold off any longer.


	2. Culture Shock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris and Edward try and get used to living with each other. There are some problems. But the sex is awesome.  
> **Warning:** All-male sex and voyeurism.

Chris paused in the kitchen doorway, looking at Edward. Edward was sitting at the dining table, a large drawing board in front of him. His glasses were sitting half-way down his nose and his tongue was sticking out between his teeth in concentration, as he ruled lines carefully across the paper with a fine black pen. It was a fine morning and the sun was streaming in through the windows, the sea blinking in the background.

They had been living here for a week now, and Chris could still hardly believe it had happened. To have Edward here, in his beautiful new home--living here; it was like a dream come true.

He felt he could watch Edward forever, doing _anything_. Drawing, of course; Edward got so involved, could be splendidly oblivious to everything around him when he had an idea he wanted to get down on paper. If he was concetrating hard, he wouldn't be aware of anyone else in the room, even when Chris was only inches away.

Eating, too; Chris had watched Edward munch a bag of chips while reading the newspaper the previous day, and found himself entranced watching Edward's lips and throat move as he bit into each chip, crunched, swallowed.

And sleeping. Chris had woken up the first morning in the new house to find Edward asleep beside him, lying on his stomach, one arm hugging the pillow under his head. His sleek brown hair had almost obscured his face, but not quite; Chris could just see the outline of his nose and long dark lashes closed over one eyelid. Chris had kept very still for the best part of half an hour, just watching Edward make tiny movements as he breathed, dreamed, shifted position.

Edward looked up from the drawing board, and smiled. "Hey." He pushed his glasses back and stretched, linking his hands and raising his arms in the air. "Is it lunchtime already?"

Chris came up to him and ruffled his hair, planted an affectionate kiss on the top of his head. "If you want." He looked at the board, at a neat building taking shape that looked rather like a greenhouse. "What's this?"

"Extension on a house down the coast that way... conservatory kind of thing, glass roof, big windows." Edward yawned. "Hey, it's great to have so much light in here, and the view is wonderful. If I'd known I'd have been working in here when I designed this place, I'd have put my study here."

Chris frowned a little at this, wondering if Edward was angling to claim this room as his study. The dining room did indeed have good light; it had very large windows, and shared the sea view with the kitchen and living room. They hadn't designed the house to have two home offices, of course, so they had allocated one of the guest bedrooms to be Edward's. But as they didn't have any furniture for that room yet, Edward had temporarily set himself up in the dining room.

"No, this has to be the dining room," Chris objected. He had always had pleasant visions of having dinner parties in here, good meals with fine wines overlooking the sea. He waved towards the adjacent kitchen.

"Well, it does _now_. But if we were starting over, the dining room could have gone where the kitchen is, and the kitchen back that way." Edward gestured in various directions.

"No, the kitchen needs the sea view too," Chris said firmly. He liked cooking and spent a lot of time in the kitchen. Whereas he knew Edward liked good food, but had no particular interest in or aptitude for cooking it. "You're not actually looking at the sea while you're working. You don't need the sea view."

Edward looked a little surprised at the force of Chris's tone, and raised a hand in supplication. "Actually, I've found it refreshing and inspirational having it here working this morning, but fine. It's your house."

Chris was full of sudden turmoil. He did not want Edward to feel like a guest here. "No! It's _our _house... _our_ home... right?" He looked around the room, trying to make amends. "There's no reason why you shouldn't work in here if you want. If you just keep your stuff in the study and bring it out here when you need to, when you're actually drawing..."

Edward turned and looked at Chris through shrewd brown eyes. "Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do, Chris, but I think you'd go slowly mad if I cluttered up the dining room like this all the time."

This was true, Chris was a neat person who liked things to be in their place. But he didn't want Edward to be stifled. Chris folded his arms. "I can live with it. I'm sorry if I'm being prescriptive about the rooms. I guess I spent too much time imagining what my dream home would be like."

Which had not, at the time, included worrying about anybody else living there.

"Well, I didn't design it for two," Edward echoed Chris's own thought.

"I didn't ask you to. I didn't think it was an issue. I've never actually lived with anybody else before," Chris confessed. He had never had a relationship that had been serious enough, or lasted long enough, to worry about such a thing.

"Really?" Edward looked surprised. "Never? Never had a roommate, even?"

"Not since college."

"Wow. I think I've always lived with somebody else," Edward said thoughtfully, sitting back in his chair. "I guess it must be a real culture shock for you having me around suddenly."

It was true. It _was _a culture shock. It was weird having someone else's clothes in the closet; an unfamiliar set of toiletries in the bathroom, different books appearing on shelves, stacks of architectural drawings and pens and pencils and ink and rulers everywhere. And all this meant Chris only had half the space that he had expected to have, all over the house.

It was strange shopping for two, doubling up the groceries and having to take account of another person's tastes. The first time they'd gone food shopping together Chris had been left dumbstruck by the different products and brands that clattered into the shopping cart.

Above all it was a struggle to cope with Edward's routine. Chris was used to working odd hours in afternoons and evenings; his bars and restaurants all had good managers at the helm and pretty much took care of themselves, although he liked to visit them all himself at least once a week. He was a night owl, used to rising late and spending a lazy morning sitting in the kitchen with newspapers and brunch. In contrast, Edward had to work office hours at his firm of architects, and that meant getting up at seven AM and leaving the house at eight. Chris was trying to get up at the same time as him to be supportive, but finding it close to impossible.

"Yes, it's a culture shock," Chris admitted. "But hey, it's worth it."

"I'm glad you think so," Edward said, rather wryly, getting to his feet, stretching; and just the sight of Edward standing up was enough to make Chris realize just why it was worth it all over again. Edward was wearing a black T-shirt tucked into close-fitting blue jeans and Chris got a splendid view first of Edward's ass, then as Edward turned around, Chris's eye fell on a slight, perfect bulge in the front of his jeans.

Chris took a stride forward and grabbed Edward and kissed him hard. Edward took a few seconds to respond, caught slightly by surprise, but then slid warm arms around Chris's waist and kissed back. Chris pushed his groin up against that bulge in Edward's jeans, and Edward made a noise something like _OhAhHmm_.

"Maybe it's not lunchtime just yet," Chris muttered, and propelled Edward along to the bedroom.

To _their _bedroom.

* * *

They spent a lot of time during the first few weeks working on the house. There was still final painting and decorating by workmen going on during the day, which Chris oversaw while Edward was at work. Chris also had some furniture to bring in but it wasn't enough, as the house was a lot bigger than anywhere he'd lived previously, and of course Edward hadn't brought anything with him. So evenings and weekends they went out to select and buy furniture and furnishings, and generally put their house in order.

It was fun. They walked through shops and examined catalogs, discussed colors and designs and what they actually needed. For the most part they were able to agree on things easily enough, although it was also something of a eye-opener for Chris. He had never worried before about what anyone else thought of the way he lived and the possessions he owned. Now there was another person around with his own ideas, views and opinions.

"That," said Edward, eying Chris's desk which had arrived from storage one day, "is _hideous_."

"What's wrong with it?" Chris was defensive.

"Well it is intrinsically ugly, but also it just doesn't go." Edward swept an arm around Chris's new study, which was all new wood and white walls. The desk was old and battered and dark.

"It's got sentimental value. I got it when I was at college," Chris protested. From a yard sale, he recalled; Edward was right, it was a piece of crap. But Chris wanted it anyway. "This is _my _study and I'm having my desk in it. You can buy a nice new desk for _your _study."

Edward shrugged and nodded, and said no more. He fought a more successful battle over replacing the couch and chairs in the living room, which Chris hadn't been intending to do but figured was probably a good idea.

As well as aesthetic tastes, there were also personal foibles to cope with. Chris had known Edward was creative to the point of being absent-minded, but hadn't realized that this meant Edward was liable to forget all kinds of practical things. For example, he could never remember where they parked the car at the parking garage at the mall. The first time they went shopping and agreed to meet back at the car, Edward was late and Chris was starting to get worried before his cell rang.

"Chris, it's me. I've been looking for ages, where are you? Where's the car?" Edward sounded helpless.

"I'm at the car! Where are you?"

It turned out Edward had been wandering helplessly around the wrong level for the last fifteen minutes before calling Chris in despair. Chris swiftly learned that if they were meeting anywhere, the best thing to do was to write the location and time down on Edward's hand beforehand.

Edward was also capable of being clumsy when he wasn't wielding a pen or pencil, as Chris discovered in the second week. He had been preparing dinner; it had just gone in the oven when Edward reached into a cupboard only to drop and break a wine glass. Then, having apologized and swept up all the bits of glass, he reached back into the cupboard and promptly dropped and broke another.

"For fuck's sake!" Chris shouted, looking at shards of glass across the kitchen floor. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

Edward flinched as if Chris had hit him. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to--"

"Two in two _minutes_?" Chris knew he was over-reacting but somehow couldn't help it.

"I'm not cleaning up with you looking at me like that. Go next door," Edward said with a surprising degree of authority, and Chris took a deep breath and marched out to the living room.

He sat down in an armchair, wondering why he'd got so upset suddenly. The wine glasses were hand-blown Italian, a present from Linus from one of his trips abroad; Chris was sorry to have lost two of them, and in such quick succession, but he knew that wasn't the problem. It wasn't like Linus would even remember. It was that someone else was around his kitchen and able break his glasses in the first place.

A few minutes later Edward came in, holding two unbroken wine glasses by their long stems, and an open bottle of Bordeaux. He set the glasses down on the coffee table, and poured each one half full.

"Thanks," Chris muttered, and then, with an effort, "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too." Edward handed him a glass. "I break stuff sometimes. Call it a cute little flaw."

That made Chris smile. "I'm sure I've got some cute little flaws too."

"Yeah, your quick temper for one," Edward said, without hesitation, and Chris nodded, acknowledging his fault.

He'd been so busy thinking about how strange it was living with someone else that he hadn't thought much about how strange it must be for Edward, too.

* * *

 

Of course, there was an enormous elephant in the room that they were both studiously ignoring. Edward was still married. Chris hadn't learned much about his wife, basically because he didn't really want to know.

The first morning after Edward had moved in, he had gone back to his wife's house to get his possessions. He'd been gone hours, much longer than Chris expected, and after a while Chris had really feared that Edward was not coming back. Chris was incredibly relieved when Edward's car came bumping down the driveway late afternoon, the back seat piled high with sketchbooks and portfolios of architectural drawings. But he was shocked when Edward got out of the car looking white as a sheet, and with raw, bloodshot eyes.

"How was it?" Chris asked tentatively, not really wanting to know.

"Fucking dreadful," Edward said, slamming the driver's side door shut, and they hadn't talked about it any more.

They'd brought in Edward's stuff, but Edward had been mostly silent for the rest of the evening and then excused himself to go to bed early, saying he had a godawful headache. The following day, he spent a long time sitting by himself on the beach, apparently wanting to be alone with his thoughts. Chris gave him space, and gradually Edward warmed up again, and within a couple of days he seemed okay.

A few days later, they were pulling furniture around the living room in possible configurations when Edward's cell rang. Chris watched Edward pull the phone out of his pocket and look at the caller display, and his face, previously relaxed and happy, went taut as a wire.

Chris opened his mouth to say, _who is it? _only to realize who it must be, and he shut up like a clam. Edward switched the phone off, apparently unable to face answering, and stuffed it back in his pocket.

"That was..." he began to say, and his voice trailed off.

"Yeah," Chris said gruffly. "Look, what about putting this chair against that wall?"

Edward took the proffered way out, and they didn't discuss the call anymore.

After that Edward got calls on his cell every few days at odd times, which were obviously from his wife. Sometimes Edward took the calls and sometimes he didn't. When he did, he had conversations both short and long, both heated and quiet, just out of Chris's earshot.

Chris didn't try and eavesdrop and he didn't ask questions. He supposed there was stuff Edward would need to discuss with her, like a divorce presumably, but Chris just didn't want to think about her existence any more than he had to. Not when he could spend an eternity just watching Edward do absolutely anything, and be perfectly happy.

* * *

They'd been living together a few weeks before Chris felt bold enough to take Edward along to his club. It was an important, nay fundamental part of Chris's life; but he really didn't know what Edward was going to make of the scene there. If Edward didn't take to it, was uncomfortable with it all... Chris didn't know what he'd do.

Except he _did_\--he'd give it all up in an instant if he had to. If he could learn to live with broken wine glasses, strange possessions around the house and even getting up early in the morning, he could handle giving up the club; none of that could hold a candle compared to having Edward in his life.

But hopefully it would not come to that. Certainly Edward himself didn't give the least sign of being apprehensive about visiting the club, which was encouraging. He did ask what he should wear.

"Whatever you want," Chris said.

Edward quirked an amused eyebrow. "Smart, casual, leather, rubber?..."

That made Chris laugh. "Like I said, whatever you want."

They turned up on a Friday evening, each conventionally clad in jeans and shirts. Chris knew the place would be busy but not yet packed. Hovering near the door was Bob, Chris's trusted manager of several years service. It was unusual for Chris to turn up with someone in tow, and Bob looked at Edward with interest as they came inside.

"Bob, this is Edward," Chris said, ultra-casually. "Edward, this is Bob, manager of this place. Bob, Edward doesn't pay for anything, okay?"

"I'll pass the word around." Bob and Edward exchanged greetings. Edward walked on a few paces, looking around, and Chris hung back for a private word with Bob.

"Bob... this one's special. Keep an eye on him, alright?"

"Got it," Bob said, stony-faced, and Chris knew that every man jack in the place would be making sure nothing untoward happened to Edward.

Chris gave Edward a brief tour of the downstairs area, which had a couple of bars, a big-screen TV and a dance floor, then took him upstairs to the private bar. The doorkeeper said _hey _to Chris and took a careful look at Edward.

"This is Edward, my guest, anything he says goes, alright?" Chris did the introductions.

The doorman nodded.

"I feel like a VIP," Edward said as they walked inside.

"In here, you are," Chris said firmly.

"Edward!" Linus waved delightedly across the room. "So great to see you here at last!"

Chris and Edward walked across the room to where Linus was perched on a bar stool. Next to him sat a handsome young man with black hair, dark eyes, and features that looked like they'd been carved out of perfect marble by a particularly skilled craftsman.

"This beautiful boy is Philippe," Linus introduced his companion. "He's staying with me for a while. Philippe, this are my very good friends Chris and Edward."

They exchanged hellos, Philippe in a splendid accented drawl that Chris couldn't quite place. Linus always had a weakness for the exotic. Chris had often thought that Linus had young men come to live in his house like other people had stray cats: they wandered in, apparently off the street, ate some food, lived by the fireside for a while and then wandered off again.

"What do you make of Philippe? Doesn't he have the most perfectly handsome face?" Linus said to Chris, when neither Edward nor Philippe was within earshot. "Like a statue of a Roman God, or something."

"Yeah," Chris was amused.

"And I can assure you he's just as perfectly carved elsewhere," Linus said with a wink.

After a while Chris took Edward behind the bar to show him his office. Chris spent a lot of time there and had it furnished comfortably with a big desk chair and a large overstuffed couch. They then went and ate burgers and fries in the downstairs bar.

Some time later Chris was talking to the bartender about supplies of single malts, while Edward was next to him but sitting a little apart. Suddenly Chris saw in his peripheral vision that another guy had sat down on the other side of Edward, and obviously hadn't realized that Edward was with Chris.

"Hello, sugar," the guy said to Edward. "Haven't seen you before. First time here?"

"Um, yes," Edward said, sounding slightly startled but polite. Chris turned his head to look at the newcomer properly, and saw the guy was young, with short red hair; Chris vaguely recognized him as a regular but didn't know his name. He had sat down very close to Edward and moreover, had actually put a hand on his arm. Edward shifted in his seat, moving his arm away.

"You're far too cute to be sitting here on your own, pretty boy. Can I get you a drink?" Redhead asked.

"No, I'm fine thank-you," Edward said firmly.

The bartender caught Chris's eye, raising a querying eyebrow. Chris shook his head slightly; _I'll deal with this_. He twisted on the bar stool to turn towards Edward and spoke, addressing Redhead. "He's with me."

"Aw, crap," Redhead said in disgust, obviously recognizing Chris.

"Sorry," Edward said with a wintry smile.

"Casting couch fodder. I might've guessed," Redhead said, and he slid off the bar stool and vanished.

_Shit_. Chris winced. The bartender, clearly deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, sidled away down towards the other end of the bar.

Edward turned towards Chris, and said in an absolutely deadpan tone, "Casting couch fodder."

"The couch up in my office is nicknamed the casting couch," Chris explained, sheepish, wondering how much it was necessary to explain.

"You hold... _auditions _up there?" Edward quirked a bushy eyebrow. Chris hoped he was being teased.

"Look... when you own a place like this, it's not hard to get laid." As he spoke, Chris felt himself start to blush, and inwardly berated himself.

"It doesn't matter whether you own a place like this or not. When you're tall and fair and good-looking like you, it's not hard to get laid," Edward said, straight up, and this startled Chris. He was so used to thinking of Edward as _absolutely fucking irresistible _that it hadn't occurred to him that Edward might see Chris in a similar light.

"No. Look... it _used _to be like that but it's different now. Now I'm with you, I mean." Chris wanted to be reassuring; he wanted to convey that he would do anything for Edward (including not having sex with anyone else in the world ever if that was what it took....) but he was finding this really very embarrassing. "Anyway, why are we talking about me? You're the one who just got hit on!"

Edward smiled widely, reached up and flicked a stray strand of Chris's hair. "You don't need to handle me with kid gloves, you know. I used to come to places like this all the time."

"When... you were at college?" _With the abusive sports jock,_ Chris mentally added. The mere thought of Edward's ex never failed to bring on a surge of anger, but he kept it to himself.

"Yeah." Edward caressed Chris's earlobe with a delicate fingertip; Chris shuddered a little. Edward looked up at Chris through huge dark eyes, magnified by his specs. "I used to get hit on a lot then, too."

Chris wasn't the slightest bit surprised by that. He reached out to curl a hand around Edward's neck. "I bet you did, pretty boy. I'd have come onto you like a shot... "

Their mouths met and Chris pushed a hungry tongue into Edward's mouth, suddenly really very horny. Edward sucked on Chris's tongue briefly, then ran his own tongue flickering around Chris's lips. Chris let out a small groan; _fuck yes. _He wanted this chocolate-eyed silky-haired puppy right now--

"Let's go test the casting couch," Edward muttered in Chris's ear, and Chris needed no encouragement whatsoever. They hopped off the bar stools, headed upstairs and behind the bar to the offices. Chris knew a number of regulars watched them go and knew exactly what they were doing, and he could not have cared less.

In Chris's office, Edward took off his glasses, and they fell onto the casting couch and started ripping at each other's clothes. Two sets of zippers later, their groins were locked, cocks pushing up against each other. Chris, underneath, could hardly breathe with Edward's full weight on top of him but it didn't matter; nothing in the world mattered except that Edward was there with him, sweating and panting and kissing him as if their lives depended on it. Splendid virtually simultaneous orgasms ensued a minute later.

They lay there for a while in an exhausted sticky mess; Chris felt himself slide into a doze for a few minutes, and thought Edward did too.

Eventually he shifted position slightly and opened his eyes to see Edward opening large brown eyes too. Chris hugged Edward close and kissed his neck.

"Chris," Edward murmured. "Linus made a pass at me last week."

Chris was startled, not by the information but at Edward choosing this moment to tell him. "Oh?"

"He said," and Edward launched into a near perfect imitation of Linus's voice, "_Edward darling, just wanted to let you know I find you terribly attractive, and if you ever want to have sex anytime you only have to say."_

Chris laughed at this; so typically Linus.

"I said I was very flattered but didn't think you'd be too happy. But he waved a hand," Edward raised a hand in a dismissive gesture, "and said, _Chris would be cool with that..._" Edward paused and looked up at Chris through long dark eyelashes. "_Would_ you be cool with that?"

Chris was taken aback. The last thing he'd said to Linus on the subject, of course, was that Edward was off-limits because Chris didn't want to risk scaring him away. But that didn't seem like quite as much of a potential problem anymore. And if by chance Edward was inclined towards this, then Chris didn't want to start getting possessive. It would, after all, be hot to watch...

Chris hesitated for a minute, then said carefully, "If you were cool, I'd be cool. If you weren't, I'd kick Linus's ass."

Edward was silent, then said, "I'll let you know if I'm cool or not."

* * *

Late that evening, Chris was thinking that they should head home soon, when Linus hailed him across the bar and said, "Chris, come back to my place. You and Edward can help me and Philippe drink some of my '82 port."

"Sounds good." Chris was a little hesitant. He couldn't help but ask, "You want company for any other reason?"

"Why Chris, I don't know what you're talking about." Linus winked. "Shall we go?"

Back at Linus's place, they made themselves comfy in the large split level living room, Linus and Philippe settled in one large couch, Chris and Edward curled up in another couch a few feet away at a right angle. The port was excellent, Edward was relaxed and Chris was happy.

He was interested to see a little more of Philippe, too. Some of Linus's stray cats acted like they owned the place, others sidled shyly in doorways and fled when anyone new arrived. Philippe was the confident type, arrogantly aware of his own beauty, and cheeky to Linus. Linus, who always accepted people just as they were, clearly just adored Philippe and gave him the run of the place.

"Hey," Edward murmured and jerked his head. Chris looked across the room, and saw that Linus and Philippe, who had been necking fairly steadily between sips of port, were getting quite seriously up close and personal. Linus was now sprawled on his back on the couch, Philippe lying on top of him; both now had their shirts undone, and as Chris watched, Philippe slid a deft hand down to unzip Linus's fly.

"Should we leave?" Edward whispered.

"If you want, sure," Chris replied carefully. "But Linus won't mind if we stay."

"Right." Edward gazed across the room.

After a minute or two Edward was showing no signs of wanting to get up and go, so Chris moved hesitantly towards him and started nibbling his ear. Edward sighed a little, and Chris lifted a hand to trace around his jaw. They started to kiss, pausing periodically to survey what was going on on the other side of the room. Philippe had now shed most of his clothes, had Linus's cock out of his pants and was alternately pumping with his fist and sucking with his mouth. Linus and Philippe were casting glances across at them too.

"Wow, this is like watching porn by some two-way conference call link," Edward murmured, which made Chris let out a small laugh between kisses. Then Edward muttered, "Whoa!" and Chris looked over just in time to see Philippe roll a condom deftly down onto Linus's cock, then lower himself carefully down onto it.

Chris pushed Edward back against the arm of the couch, plastered his mouth onto Edward's, and pressed his crotch up against Edward's crotch, feeling Edward's hard-on. Chris muttered into his mouth, "You okay with this?"

"Depends--what--you want to do," Edward said between breaths.

"I'd like to fuck you," Chris breathed. _But I'll settle for anything, actually, right now._

There was a small pause in which Chris feared he'd gone too far; then Edward breathed back, "Okay."

God, it was like a dream come true; Chris practically trembled at the realization that he not only had Edward living with him at home but also that Edward was willing to live in his world--happy to come to the club, willing to go along with this, in front of Linus. He smothered Edward's mouth briefly with kisses, then reached to undo his fly.

They both wriggled out of pants and boxer shorts, and Edward flopped around on his stomach. This was so he could watch Linus and Philippe, Chris immediately realized, and the realization was enough to make his already hard cock surge to full erection.

As Edward leaned on the couch arm, gazing at the other men, Chris groped in his wallet for a condom and rolled it on quickly. He spat in his hand and hoped to heaven that would be enough--the importance of being different from the college boyfriend jock jerk always in the back of his mind. He tried a finger first, and when Edward took that readily, eased in his cock.

Fucking Jesus Christ almighty, he was fucking Edward there on Linus's couch, with Philippe groaning and riding Linus just a few feet away. It could not get any better than this. Chris started slow and quickly moved to hard and fast--Edward was right there with him and wanted this _every--bit--as--much--_Chris came with a huge, heaving groan. He pulled out, and Edward turned around immediately to kiss him on the mouth and guide his hand to Edward's own cock. A couple of jerks, and Edward climaxed in Chris's fist just as Philippe fell off Linus and collapsed on the couch next to him.

* * *

The following morning in Linus's large guest bedroom, Chris woke ahead of Edward and ambled down to the kitchen. He found Linus there, clad in a bright red and blue bathrobe, sipping coffee and nibbling toast.

"Hey, Linus." Chris went to help himself to coffee.

"Chris! Quite a night last night," Linus said, his tone innocent. "How's the beautiful architect?"

"Sleeping like a baby," Chris smiled. "And the Roman God?"

"Ditto." Linus put his cup down and stretched in his chair. "I know it's early in the morning, Chris, but I've got four words to turn you on."

"Oh?" Chris took a mouthful of coffee.

"Edward, Philippe, together, naked."

Chris gulped and hot coffee burned its way down his throat and into his stomach. He coughed, and spluttered, and envisioned Edward's floppy hair and soft mouth falling on Philippe's handsome face, and--God. It was early but--instant erection.

"Doesn't have to be today," Linus said brightly. "Let's give them some time and drop some hints. I don't think Philippe will need much persuasion."

"I don't know, Linus; I don't want to scare Edward away." Chris spoke from the heart.

"He was very happy to watch last night--"

"That's not quite the same as joining in," Chris protested.

"Chris," Linus said with an air of authority. "You're obviously so head over heels in love with him, you want to do whatever he wants. But what you're not seeing is that because he's also so head over heels in love with you, he wants to do whatever you want him to."

"Maybe. But..." Chris threw up a frustrated hand. "Look, Linus, he's kinda been here before." It came spilling out. "He had this dick of a boyfriend in college who treated him badly and fucked him every which way, and he put up with it because he loved the guy. I don't want to railroad him into anything he's not comfortable with. I don't want to be like that guy--"

"You're nothing like that," said a voice from the door, and Chris spun around to see Edward, clad in T-shirt and boxer shorts, his hair sticking up slightly from where it had been squashed against the pillow.

Edward's glasses slid down his nose and he pushed them up as he went on, his voice shaking slightly, "And last night was nothing like that either. When I was with Preston he fucked me in front of other people a few times, but it was all about him showing off, and showing _me _off... before I kind of got passed round the room. It sucked..."

Chris felt the familiar fist of anger in his chest, and saw a shocked expression on Linus's face too. _Preston_\--Chris made a mental note, he hadn't heard the guy's name before.

"Last night was nothing like that," Edward repeated, and gave a helpless shrug.

Chris took two strides forward and gathered Edward into his arms.


	3. Walls Come Tumbling Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris and Edward have problems. But not with sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:Non-monogamous all-male sexual activity including exhibitionism, voyeurism, sex with strangers and group sex. In case that puts anyone off.

"This is great! Why have I never done this before?" Edward stood aglow on the deck of the boat as it cut through the waves.

Chris, down at the tiller, felt himself fill with delight at Edward's obvious pleasure. They had started to share each other's hobbies and activities, and it was _fun_.

Yesterday they'd gone running together, and that had been a real eye-opener. Chris had always thought he was fit but it turned out he was gym-fit, not running-fit. Edward, on the other hand, was in his element and clearly could have run a lot longer than Chris managed.

"You could run a marathon," Chris had panted when they paused at a half-way point. He stood with his hands on his thighs, trying to breathe.

"Um, I did, once." Edward sounded a trifle sheepish. "New York marathon, two years ago. I managed four hours fourteen minutes."

"Fucking hell." Chris was impressed. He started to understand Edward's lean, wiry physique a little more. He also really felt his own shortness of breath and lack of lung capacity, and remembered that his personal trainer at the gym was always at him to quit smoking.

The night before they'd gone running, they had taken a trip to the movies. It was a late night showing, not much of an audience. They'd sat in the back row and held hands discreetly once the lights were down. Chris had thoroughly enjoyed the intimacy in the dark; it had been like being a teenager again.

They'd come home afterwards and Chris had continued Edward's education in single malts. Edward was used to blended whiskey, and Chris was gradually introducing him to his collection of Scotland's more exotic and unusual single malts, bought direct from the distilleries.

And today they were sailing. Chris wasn't an expert but he enjoyed being out on a boat, it was part of what he loved about living by the ocean. There was a marina nearby which hired out cabin cruisers and this was his favorite one, which he got whenever possible. He usually went out on his own, sometimes with company; this was the first time he'd brought Edward with him.

He stopped the engine and went up on deck to join Edward, finding him sitting gazing out at the distant horizon. It was chilly and Edward was hunched up in his jacket and jeans, with his arms wrapped around his knees. Chris plumped himself down beside Edward, mirroring the pose.

"It's better in the summer," Chris said, his breath a white cloud. "Sometimes I just take a boat out and let it drift for a while and sunbathe here on deck, for hours…."

"That sounds very cool." Edward reached out and looped an arm around Chris's shoulders. "I guess it's expensive to hire this thing?"

"Yeah, but more affordable than buying one. Linus and I have talked about buying a boat together before, but even with two of us they're very expensive." Chris snuggled into Edward's neck. "One day, perhaps."

They sat close together for a while, ocean lapping in all directions around them. Edward curled a hand around Chris's head, tilting Chris's face towards him, and they kissed gently, for a long time.

Chris had never been so content.

* * *

He thought Edward was content too, except for the periodic phone calls from his wife, which Chris did his best to ignore. He hoped Edward would just sort this out with time, but it couldn't always be ignored that easily.

One weekday night Edward came home from work late, looking tired and drawn, and very pale.

"Bad day?" Chris asked, sympathetic.

"Claudia came to see me at the office," Edward said tonelessly.

"Oh." That didn't sound good.

"I've been putting off meeting her, so she figured she'd come and find me instead." Edward dropped into a chair and put his face in his hands.

Chris was actually rather pleased to glean from this that Edward had been avoiding meeting her.

"She confronted me in front of everyone." Edward continued. "Chris, it was a fucking nightmare..."

"Let's go out," Chris suggested, not in the least wanting to hear about what a nightmare it had been, and thinking it wasn't good for Edward to dwell on it either. Better to distract him. "Have a drink at the club."

Edward started to shake his head, then shrugged and nodded. "Okay."

Much later, with the benefit of hindsight, Chris realized that perhaps he shouldn't have suggested this; they should have stayed in and talked about it, he should have heard what had happened. But at the time, Chris plain didn't want to. And if he was honest about it, he knew was afraid to, too. He didn't want to risk upsetting his happy equilibrium.

* * *

They took the bike to the club, Chris reassured by Edward's arms clasping him from behind, warm even through two leather jackets.

Once there, Edward drank four beer and whiskey chasers in the time it took Chris to drink one, which was disturbing even though Chris was holding back as the driver.

"Let's dance," Edward said unexpectedly after his fifth drink, and they did, although Chris hadn't had enough alcohol to be comfortable dancing. He was too self-conscious. Edward, by contrast, threw himself into it, and after a short while attracted the attention of an attractive young man with short spiky hair, who started to dance closer and closer to them.

Chris could have shut him out, but instead deliberately stepped back and away, stopping to stand to one side, watching Edward dance with the other man. Edward cast a questioning glance in his direction, to which Chris nodded; _go with the flow_.

It was crowded out on the dance floor; the music thumped and the lights blinked colorfully. Chris admired Edward's graceful, uninhibited movements and his face in profile, eyes almost closed and his glasses halfway down his nose, a damp stray curl sticking out from his floppy hair. He was so beautiful, Chris felt his heart thump a little quicker at the knowledge that Edward was with _him_.

Edward and Spiky Hair drew gradually closer to each other, until they were almost touching. And then they _were _touching, not dancing any more but standing there swaying on the dance floor with their noses brushing very lightly, and then their lips. Chris took a deep breath and felt his cock start to press against the seam of his jeans.

Edward pulled back to look at Chris, who jerked his head in an upwards direction: _upstairs_. Edward nodded back, and tugged gently on Spiky Hair's arm. The other man looked at Chris through wide eyes, but followed Edward readily as Chris led the way up the stairs to the second floor. The doorman let the three of them into the private bar without blinking. Chris then headed behind the bar to his office and the casting couch.

"I get to watch," Chris said to Spiky Hair without ceremony, and flung himself down on his desk chair.

The guy with spiky hair looked at Edward, who smiled and kissed him and drew him down to sit on the couch, and Spiky Hair kissed back.

Chris sat back with a sigh of satisfaction as Edward slipped off his spectacles, and the two men started to make out. Hands roaming swiftly and sliding under T-shirts, down to fiddle with belt buckles and reaching down into jeans; kissing all the time. Shoes were kicked off, pants wriggled out of. The spiky haired guy was wearing close-fitting briefs underneath and Edward spent a minute feeling the bulge that was evident beneath, before easing his hand inside and freeing the cock within.

The sight of Edward leaning down and taking Spiky Hair's cock in his mouth made Chris grunt out loud and reach for his own fly. Christ, there could be no better sight than Edward's mop of silky brown hair flopping over his eyes while he administered a blow job. The other man squeezed his eyes tightly shut and grabbed the back of the couch as Edward's mouth moved up and down, then he squeaked, "Gonna come," jerked his cock out of Edward's mouth, and made good on that.

When Spiky Hair got his breath back, he said, "You wanna fuck me?"

"If that's alright," Edward said, sounding a trifle embarrassed.

"Hell yes. And your boyfriend there looks like he can't wait," Spiky Hair said. Chris grinned a little and reached into his desk drawer. He found a tube of lube and a condom, and tossed them across to Edward, one at a time. Edward caught each one neatly, rolled on the condom, slicked his fingers.

The other guy flopped down on his front on the couch and Edward lay on top of him, finger fucking him. Chris took in the splendid sight of the two men naked, pressed together, Edward's face buried in the back of Spiky Hair's neck and his hard-on rubbing against Spiky Hair's hip.

After a couple of minutes Edward shifted position and eased his cock inside carefully; Spiky Hair cursed a little, but took him readily, and then Edward lay along Spiky Hair's back as close as he could and started to thrust properly. Chris sucked in his breath and groaned, tugging at his own cock, watching Edward fucking the other man--close now--

And _just _at the right second, Edward looked up and round at Chris, and their gazes locked. Chris saw huge brown eyes sucking him in, and the two of them came together with a mutual cry and a huge rush.

Edward pulled out with a painful grunt and sank onto the couch next to Spiky Hair, who remarked, "Man, that was _far--out_."

Indeed, Chris thought but didn't say, speech being far too much to cope with at that moment.

They never did talk about Claudia's confrontation with Edward at his work. Edward went to work the next day without a murmur, and Chris hoped that was the end of that.

* * *

Chris hit the button to stop the treadmill and ran slowly to a stop, gasping for breath, but not as much as he usually did.

"Not bad at all. You've got more breath these days," Donovan, his personal trainer, said with approval. "Cutting down on the cigarettes at last?"

"Yeah," Chris panted. He couldn't give up completely, couldn't actually imagine ever being able to give up smoking completely, but he smoked vastly less than he had used to. His visits to the gym were gradually getting easier.

"For the love of a good man," Donovan deduced.

"Ha ha," Chris responded, but Donovan was right, it was Edward's influence. Edward claimed not to mind Chris smoking, but he didn't smoke himself. Chris had become conscious for the first time in his life that he was damaging someone else's health... someone he cared about.

* * *

That Saturday they were due for dinner at Linus's house. Earlier in the day Edward had taken another call from Claudia and been very quiet and twitchy afterwards; Chris tried to distract his attention by talking about Linus and his stray cats. Chris remarked in passing how good-looking Philippe was. Hot, actually.

That finally made Edward smile. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

"No, I was kind of hoping you might tell me something," Chris said blithely, and Edward actually laughed at that.

"Yes, he is very good looking," Edward agreed, and raised a mischievous eyebrow. His smile faded a little, and he went on with some diffidence. "There was something I was going to ask you.... This is going to sound really stupid. Are you... in a relationship with Linus?"

"No," Chris answered, amused, interested to see how something he never thought twice about apparently needed explanation. "We're just friends."

"Do 'just friends' watch each other having sex?"

Chris hesitated, trying to figure out how best to put this. "We share some sexual partners, always have, but we don't fuck each other."

Edward looked everywhere except at Chris and said, "Then did you _used _to...?"

"No." Chris hoped Edward hadn't spent long worrying about this. "We did try having sex once, and it was so disastrous we agreed we were better off being friends.

"Really?" Edward smiled a little, apparently reassured. "What happened?"

"Oh, you don't want to know!"

"Absolutely I do! You can't say something like that and not tell me."

"Oh, alright." Chris could feel himself blushing a little. "It was the night the club opened, Linus had sold it to me and I'd refurbished it. I was the manager then as well as the owner--money was tight for the first few years. First night was a big deal, it went well, good turnout, but by the end I was just fucking exhausted by it all. We shut the door after the last person left and Linus said to me, _'We should celebrate! Why didn't we keep some of those beautiful boys behind?_..."

Edward laughed.

"...And I said, _'Because I don't want to lose my fucking license on day one!'_ And Linus pouted a bit, as he does, and said, _'Well, in the absence of anyone else, wanna fuck?'_ and I said, _'Fine, you can top because I'm too tired'_, and--" Chris put a hand over his mouth at the memory. "Well, we tried. Up in my office. I hadn't got a couch back them, there was an old armchair but it wasn't really big enough so we moved to the floor... and I was so tired I just kind of lay there... and after a few minutes Linus said, _'Chris, are you asleep?'_"

Edward roared with laughter, and Chris joined in.

"And then?" Edward asked.

"Oh God, I tried to wake up a bit and make an effort but it was all just so deeply unsexy. Eventually Linus said, _'Well I did have a hard-on once but it's gone and it doesn't want to come back,' _and we gave up. We had a drink instead and went back to Linus's place to watch his big screen TV." Chris shrugged. "We never bothered to try again. At least, not without at least one other person around."

Chris could see that last sentence was not lost on Edward.

* * *

Linus was an excellent cook and they dined handsomely that evening on roast venison. Linus trotted back and forth from the table with dishes while he and Chris chatted and argued and sang half-remembered songs from years ago, while Philippe lounged in a chair with a glass of red wine in one hand and expounded on life, the universe and everything to Edward. Edward listened and laughed and interjected the occasional comment, and at the end of the meal Philippe headed out into the living room and Edward followed.

Linus and Chris stayed behind, Chris giving Linus a hand clearing the table.

"They seem to be getting on," Linus murmured under his breath as he stacked dirty dishes in the dishwasher.

"You think?..."

"I can dream, Chris, I can dream," Linus said solemnly. "Shall we give them a bit of time together, or should we join them now?"

"Give them a few minutes."

They wandered nonchalantly into the living room a few minutes later to find Edward and Philippe on the big white leather couch, sitting close. Edward had an arm flung along the back of the couch and his fingers were caressing the back of Philippe's neck, ever so gently.

"Jackpot," Linus muttered to Chris, then, "Don't mind us," aloud to Edward and Philippe, and he plumped himself down in an armchair. Chris dropped into an oversize beanbag by the fireplace, and settled down to see what would happen.

Philippe arched his beautiful mouth into an artful smile, and leaned back into Edward's hand. Edward sighed a dreamy sigh and shifted towards Philippe, his lips closing, sucking, around Philippe's earlobe. They necked for a few minutes, all lazy lips and rolling tongues. Then Edward reached for Philippe's fly, pulling out his cock, rolling it carefully up and down. Chris found himself ridiculously pleased; they were putting on a damn good show for their round-eyed watching boyfriends.

Philippe plucked at Edward's belt, and Edward swiftly stripped while Philippe wriggled out of his own pants and found a tube in a pocket. Philippe pulled Edward down to sit in his lap, reached for Edward's ass, slick fingers sliding up nimbly, stretching, while Edward groaned and shook and pulled at his own cock. He seemed to have forgotten he was being watched at all.

"Blow me?" Philippe asked quietly, breathlessly, and Edward slid off the couch and onto his knees. Chris watched Edward start to suck on Philippe's cock, Edward's beautiful mouth lapping, licking. And suddenly watching wasn't enough.

Chris eased off the beanbag and crawled across the floor to the two men. Edward paused briefly, switching Philippe to his hand, to look inquiringly at Chris.

"Keep going. I want to fuck you at the same time," Chris said huskily.

Edward kissed him on the mouth, then turned his attention back to Philippe. Above them Philippe groaned a little, and to one side Chris distinctly heard Linus say, "There _is _a God."

Chris fished a condom from a pocket and swiftly divested himself of the necessary clothes. He reached for Edward's ass, pleased that Philippe had prepared him earlier. Edward's body was rocking back and forth in short, sharp movements as his head jerked around Philippe's cock. Chris grasped Edward by the hips and slid his own cock up against Edward's ass, rocking with him, and as the momentum continued, Chris guided himself gently inside.

_God Oh God Oh God. _The sensation of being one of three temporarily overwhelmed Chris's senses, making him blind and deaf and unaware of anything except his cock linking to Edward and through Edward to Philippe up on the couch. Edward lost his pace for a second or two, then regained it again, his mouth working at Philippe while his ass moved along with Chris's thrusts. When Chris's sight returned, a new wave of desire hit him as he saw the back of Edward's silky head bobbing up and down between Philippe's legs, so close in front of him.

He came first, groaning and grinding hard inside Edward, and this triggered Philippe, who gasped and pulled out of Edward's mouth, come spilling out just a second or two later. Edward moved backwards a little, and Chris, still deep inside him, reached around with both hands to slide around Edward's cock and pump. Edward put his head back against Chris's neck and gasped, "Fucking hell, _Chris_," before climaxing in Chris's hands.

"Bravo," said a voice from the side, and from the weakness of Linus's tone Chris guessed he'd come there right with them all.

* * *

They slept in Linus's guest room that night, and hung around the next day after Linus scoldingly told them not to be in such a hurry, there was a big game on that afternoon and he had the biggest TV around for miles for them all to watch it. Chris spent most of the day comfortably ensconced in an armchair with a glass of single malt at his elbow, explaining the finer points of baseball to Philippe, who claimed complete ignorance of the game but seemed willing to learn.

Edward spent some time sitting in the kitchen chatting to Linus. They seemed to be getting on well, having a good conversation. Chris was pleased and didn't try and interrupt, or listen to what they were talking about.

After the game Linus collared Chris for a walk in the grounds outside. It was late in the year, getting dark and was too cold to be outside for long. They strolled along briskly.

"Edward is such a darling," Linus remarked as they walked. "He really is an absolute gem. So clever and funny and just all-round adorable. Chris, you once told me to keep my hands off him, but that was some time ago and I was hoping..."

"If he's up for it, feel free," Chris said, smiling, pleased to have been asked, very pleased that Edward and Linus were getting on. It would have been difficult if they hadn't, he reflected.

"Why thank-you, that is good news." Linus stopped walking. "Chris, you need to talk to him. I don't mean now, but tomorrow. Or soon."

"About what?"

"About his wife."

Chris winced. "I'm trying to avoid that conversation."

"It's preying on his mind, Chris. He obviously hasn't got any kind of closure on it."

"Yeah, alright." It was easiest to agree. "Shall we go back in?"

Linus peered at Chris through the half-light, and frowned. "Chris, I mean it. I know this is the first relationship in your adult life that's even halfway serious, so perhaps you just don't know the most important thing--you need to talk to each other. You have to talk to Edward. I've never seen anyone so simultaneously happy at being where he is and yet full of self-loathing at being here."

"What do you mean?" Chris was indignant.

"I'm saying it's coming up to Christmas, a family time of year, he's going around with the most enormous millstone of guilt around his neck about leaving his wife, and it's going to pull him down if you don't help him with it, fast!"

"I said I'll talk to him!" Chris put his hands up in surrender. He knew Linus was right, but also thought Linus was exaggerating. Linus exaggerated about everything.

A short while later Chris reclined on one side of Linus's gigantic bed, Philippe sprawled on the other, and they both watched Linus and Edward... _make love_ in the middle. This wasn't the way Chris would have usually described it (_fuck each other, _more like) but it seemed appropriate here somehow. Linus treated Edward with reverence and delicacy, kissing and stroking him as if he might fall apart if handled too roughly; Edward responded with grace and affection.

They made out with beautiful intimacy, gradually divesting themselves of clothes until completely naked and rubbing up and down against each other. Chris admired Edward's smooth, beautiful body curling and flexing under Linus's touch, Edward's dark eyelashes fluttering as he groaned into Linus's mouth. A stray strand of hair clung sweatily to Edward's forehead as he slid his cock against Linus's, the two of them slipping and sliding and breathing more and more heavily.

Then Linus moaned, "Edward, _darling_ Edward," as he spilled across Edward's chest, and Edward gasped, "Linus, _God_," joining him in fantastic, back-arching climax. Chris jacked himself off with ease, and Philippe did the same on the other side of the bed.

Chris lay back and thought lazily about what a fucking great weekend this had been. In all ways.

Later, as Chris and Edward were leaving to go home, Linus muttered in an aside to Chris, "You're gonna talk to him, Chris, right?"

"Right," Chris assured him.

But Chris didn't want to. So he put it off. And put it off, until events overtook him.

* * *

It was a Saturday, and Chris had left Edward at home while he went to visit one of his bars. The manager was away on vacation and Chris wanted to reassure himself that the stand-in was doing his job. All was well, and he was on his way out, walking out towards the parking lot, when his cell rang. It was Linus.

"Hey," Chris said easily, ready for some whimsical comment and perhaps a suggestion of meeting up.

"Chris," Linus said, his voice strained and grave, and instantly Chris halted dead in his tracks. "Get your ass back home. Now. He's leaving you, Chris."

"What?"

"The wife has reeled him back in. I was afraid of this. He's leaving you, you have to stop him."

"How do you know?" Chris demanded, numbness stifling a growing sense of horror. He started to walk again towards his bike.

"Because he just came to see me, to say _goodbye_, Chris. Spent half an hour sitting at my kitchen table crying his eyes out. I tried to change his mind but I couldn't, Chris, you have to stop him."

Chris ended the call, put his helmet on, got on his bike and drove home with scant regard to speed limits along the way. He found Edward's car in the drive, the back seat piled high with architectural drawings and portfolios, just as it had been the day Edward had moved in.

Except that this time the car was pointing the other way, towards the road.

Chris yanked off his helmet and strode into the kitchen. He found a duffel bag on the table and Edward standing there, pale as death except for two blotches of color high on his cheekbones.

"Chris, I'm sorry," Edward said, a tremble in his voice.

"I thought you were happy," Chris said, letting the betrayal he felt leak into his voice.

"I _was _happy." Edward threw a hand up in a helpless gesture. "But I've made too many people _un_happy, screwed up their lives--I don't deserve to be happy, if that's the price--"

"How can you do this to me?" Chris demanded, and now anger was filtering through the initial shock and pain. "How can you just walk out like this, from us?"

"I'm sorry Chris, I never meant to hurt you, I really didn't. But I have to go back--I just have to--"

"You're a fucking coward!" Chris shouted, rage in full force. "You've been in denial for years about who you are, and just when you start to admit it, you've got scared and you're scuttling back to your boring safe little suburban married life."

Edward opened his mouth to protest, but Chris rolled on, furious.

"Well, fine. Fuck off back to the little woman. Just don't come crawling back to me when you next get the urge to suck cock."

"You have no _idea _what my marriage is like!" Edward shouted back, equally furious. "You don't know anything about her! And you have no idea of the shit I've been going through! You don't care that when I came to live with you I destroyed Claudia's life, and made my sister have a breakdown, and broke my parents' hearts. You don't have any family yourself, so it's just not on your radar that I might have walked away from people who care about me, who are worried about me."

Edward's words cut very, very deep. They sliced through Chris's rage and opened up a pit of dread in his stomach. He swallowed painfully. "How come you never said any of this before?"

_"Because you never wanted to know!" _Edward yelled. "Never! You've never taken the slightest bit of interest in my family and work life. Do you know the crap I've been dealing with at work? Every time I've tried to mention it you've shied away. Your idea of coping with problems is to go out and get drunk and have sex. And as long as I came home at the end of the day and lived in your nice little bubble, you were happy."

Chris opened his mouth, but found himself utterly unable to say anything,

"Well, I've got news for you," Edward concluded, his voice quieter now. "I've got stuff going on outside your bubble, other people who matter, and I can't hurt them like this anymore."

And Edward picked up his bag, marched out of the door, and was gone.


	4. The Devil in Disguise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris is heartbroken. He meets Edward's wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning:** Casual gay sex with strangers, drug-taking (not condoned).

Chris listened as the hum of Edward's car engine faded into the distance. Delayed shock set in; he went suddenly cold and started to shake. What had just happened? What had he _done?_

Edward had left him. Chris felt his whole body tremble violently at the realization. No. _No_.

His mouth was dry. He walked into the kitchen, looking for water, and saw a wine glass sitting upended on the draining board. It made Chris remember the evening when Edward had broken two of these glasses, one after the other. Chris was filled with sudden fury at himself for how angry he'd been then. How fucking stupid to get so worked up over such a godawful pathetic stupid little thing--

He picked up the glass by the stem, raised it a few inches and brought it down in the sink with a crash. The bowl of the glass shattered. Still gripping the stem with jagged ends attached, Chris thought about sticking his other hand into the sink and driving the shards into his wrist, imagining red blood flowing out, dripping down the drain--

But his rage subsided and his sense of self-preservation kicked in. He put the glass down, and tried to breathe.

He wandered into the living room with no idea what to do. After a while he realized he'd been standing there for several minutes, just numb.

He was still wearing his biking leathers. He headed out of the house and got back on the bike. He drove to Linus's house, barely aware of the road or other traffic around him. Fortunately it was quiet.

Linus answered the door immediately, he'd clearly been keeping an eye out. At the sight of Chris, on his own and pale and speechless, Linus sucked in his breath and stepped aside to let him in. Chris went through and sat shivering in the living room. Linus wordlessly put a bottle of Scotch at his elbow.

Chris sat there through the afternoon, chain-smoking and drinking, and feeling warmer but sinking gradually into miserable oblivion. Linus moved quietly around the house but didn't disturb him.

After a while someone came and sat next to him. It was Philippe.

"I am sorry," Philippe said, quietly, almost in Chris's ear. "He was a good guy. I liked him."

"Yeah," Chris said, and tears formed in his eyes for the first time. He blinked them back, but Philippe put a soothing hand on his arm, and somehow the physical contact took Chris over an edge. He sat and cried into Philippe's shoulder.

Eventually he sobbed himself out, and fell asleep for a while from sheer exhaustion. He woke to find himself lying with his head on Philippe's lap, and staggered up to go crash in Linus's spare room. By unspoken agreement, Philippe came with him and fell asleep by his side, in a curious but somehow comforting arrangement.

They didn't have sex (although Chris suspected that would have been entirely possible if he'd wished), just stayed close for mutual warmth and comfort.

* * *

In the middle of the night, Chris woke up with a raging headache. Quietly, so as not to disturb Philippe, he got up and went down to the kitchen to get some water.

He found Linus still up, sitting in the kitchen reading, with late night radio playing soothing soul music in the background. Chris glanced at the wall clock: 3 AM. He was a little surprised, but not unduly; Linus was a real night owl. Chris sometimes thought Linus must have been some kind of nocturnal animal in a previous life.

"Hey," Chris said tiredly, getting a glass from a cupboard and filling it at the kitchen sink.

"Hey." Linus put his book down and stretched in his chair.

Chris dropped into another chair, took a swig of water, and then rested his pounding head in his hands. "You were right. I should have talked to him."

"I'm far too polite to say I told you so," Linus returned. "So, you couldn't persuade him to stay?"

Chris winced. "No, but... I didn't really manage...we were too busy shouting at each other..." As he spoke, Chris started to realize how little they'd actually spoken. "I mean, I got mad and shouted at him, so he got angry at me and shouted back, and then he left. He said he'd hurt people, but... that was kinda it."

Linus let out an annoyed huff. "Chris, you are hopeless. Absolutely hopeless!"

"Tell me." Chris was humble now.

Linus sighed. "He didn't say much to me yesterday, he was too upset, but we had quite a good chat when you were both here the other weekend."

"About his wife? Claudia?" Chris managed to get her name out with an effort. He'd been avoiding saying it. It was easier to think about her in the abstract, as Edward's wife, than as another human being.

"A little, but more about his sister." Linus's voice was gentle now.

His _sister_. Chris realized dumbly that although he'd known Edward had a sister, he had never asked about her. "I... I don't know anything about her. I don't even know her name!"

"Her name's Eleanor," Linus said. "She's a few years older than Edward."

"They're... close?" Chris hated himself now. How the fuck could he be so enamored with Edward and yet been so uninterested in his family?

"No, I don't think they are," Linus said thoughtfully, rather to Chris's surprise. "But he does feel some responsibility for her."

"Oh?"

"She had health problems as a child--he didn't specify what, but I think he meant some kind of mental issues. She was always unstable, had a nervous breakdown in her teens, and took an extra year to finish high school." Linus screwed up his forehead as he remembered. "Dropped out of college, now lives a rather precarious life working for a religious charity in New York. Their Mom and Dad retired down to Florida a few years ago and rely on Edward to keep an eye on her, as he's closer."

Great. Just fucking great.

"He was visiting her last year and met her new roommate and best friend. _Claudia_," Linus emphasized, and looked significantly at Chris.

"He met his wife through his sister?" Chris tried to assimilate what this meant.

"You got it. I think we can assume Eleanor was thrilled when her brother and best friend got engaged and married. And poor Ellie must have been absolutely destroyed to learn he'd left her. And just to add insult to injury, for another man. And now with Christmas coming up, a family time, the pressure not to give up on his own marriage and on his sister--"

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!" Chris thumped first his fists and then his forehead on Linus's kitchen table. "How did I not know this? What is wrong with me?"

"There was one other thing." Linus's tone was grave. "He mentioned that since it got out at work that he'd left his wife for you, he was having a hard time. A couple of his colleagues refused to work with him. He said he'd spare me the detail, but he mentioned nasty e-mails and a note on his car windshield. Chris, he's obviously getting homophobic shit shoveled on him."

"You've got to be kidding me." Chris was truly horrified. He covered his eyes. "Why didn't he _tell_ me any of this?"

Linus sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Don't be too hard on yourself, Chris. I don't think Edward's any better at communication in relationships than you are."

* * *

Back at home, alone, Chris wandered into Edward's study and found his desk. Yesterday it had been covered in papers and drawings, today it was almost bare. Chris sat down at the empty desk as if that might somehow provide a link with the absent owner, and wondered what to do.

He was deeply ashamed to realize he had no idea where Edward and his wife--Claudia--lived. Not that he wanted to visit, but it was humbling to know that he couldn't even if he wanted to.

He did know where Edward worked. He'd been to the office a couple of times as a client in the early stages of building this house. So, he could go find Edward there but...the thought of going to Edward's office made Chris wince. He remembered the evening Edward had come home pale and quiet and said _Claudia confronted me at the office... Chris, it was a fucking nightmare..._ Chris had no wish to replicate that situation. It would be embarrassing at the very least, humiliating if it went badly, and if some of these homophobic bastards were around then it could cause real trouble for Edward...

He could telephone.

Chris waited until mid-afternoon on Monday, hoping that Edward would be neither at home nor at the office at the time but out on a site visit somewhere, and likely to answer his cell. He was disappointed when the call rolled straight over to voicemail but took a deep breath and left a message.

"Edward, it's me." Chris thought he'd planned what he wanted to say, but found he'd forgotten it all. He plowed on. "I'm sorry. I talked to Linus, and I can't tell you how fucking sorry I am about everything. Please could we meet, talk? I'd really like to see you. Call me anytime."

He hung up and periodically checked his cell and fretted for the rest of the day.

To his enormous annoyance, Edward called back the following morning at the very time Chris was himself unavailable on his cell, during one of his regular workout slots with Donovan at the gym. The timing was obviously deliberate, and that fact alone meant that when Chris picked up the message in the locker room afterwards, he barely even needed to listen to it to know what Edward was going to say.

"Hi Chris, I got your message. Thanks, but I don't think we should see each other again." Pause. "Please don't call me either, it's hard enough as it is." Pause. "Look, I'm sorry." Hang-up.

Chris flipped the phone shut and stuck it back in the locker. He went and took a shower, and allowed himself to cry while the tears were indistinguishable from the hot shower spray.

* * *

That evening Chris, full of sadness and fury at himself, went out to his club. He arrived and looked around for Bob, the manager. Bob raised his eyebrows when he saw Chris on his own; Chris jerked a thumb at the floor above and mouthed _My office_.

Bob followed him upstairs. Chris shut the door behind them and said without ceremony, "Edward and I split up."

"Ah." Bob's granite face cracked a little to show sorrow. "Sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, well. Shit happens." Chris couldn't bear to say anything more about it. He pulled out a wad of notes and pushed them into Bob's hand. "Do me a favor, get me some coke."

Bob looked at him in surprise. It wasn't the first time Chris had asked him to do this, but it was the first time in quite a while; and the first time not in a happy mood.

"You don't need it," Bob said eventually.

"Yes, I fucking well do!" Chris let an edge of anger show. "If you won't get it for me I'll get it myself."

He knew Bob wouldn't want that. Bob kept the drug dealers who hung out near the club at arms length but on cordial terms; they respected the place, and trouble on the premises was rare. Chris knew that the club owner barging in buying would cause friction and upset the balance; Bob wouldn't allow it.

"No," Bob said immediately. He stuffed the money into an inside pocket, and left.

Chris sat down at his desk and found a decent bottle of Scotch and a glass in a drawer. He sat for half an hour or so, drinking too quickly and getting more and more maudlin, until Bob returned and silently handed him a small plastic bag.

Chris grunted _thanks_, and once Bob had gone, retrieved a mirror from the back of a drawer and tipped a chunk of the powder out. He swiftly chopped and snorted a line, and _whoosh_. Fan-fucking-tastic. He shook himself, like a dog shaking water off its back, then got up and strode out into the club, leaving the rest of the coke still scattered on the mirror on the desk.

Monday nights were dead at the club, but Chris was going to get laid come hell or high water. He went to the downstairs bar and paused a little way away to pick out a couple of young guys. Very young, they could barely have been twenty-one. One fair, one dark. Chris immediately took a fancy to the dark one, who was shorter and thinner, and leaning on the bar with his ass sticking out.

Chris caught the bartender's eye and gestured towards the two boys; by the time he reached them, they'd already been surprised by the free refills in front of them and the barman was pouring a third glass of whiskey from a bottle kept under the bar.

"Hey. I'm Chris." Chris picked up the third glass and smiled at them both, easily sliding into the old routine.

It was easy. This had _always _been easy. With the air of authority that came with ownership, the personal attention of the bartender, and the office upstairs with the casting couch...Chris soon casually asked them up to the private bar, and they were duly impressed.

He moved past outrageous flirting with the dark-haired one to fondling, getting a feel of that flat stomach and tight little ass, and then invited them back to his office. The white powder was still scattered across the mirror on the desk, and they made a beeline for it. Chris took the dark-haired boy from behind while he was still bent over the mirror. The fair haired one watched through heavy-lidded eyes and wiped flecks of powder from around his nostrils, then stuck his finger into his boyfriend's mouth.

* * *

Chris spent Christmas at Linus's house, overindulging in every way possible. Linus was a good friend and very supportive. In the New Year, though, Linus had to go away on a six month trip to South America that had been planned for a long time; part business, part vacation. He took Philippe with him, and asked Chris if he wanted to go too.

"Get away for a bit, get your mind off things... Do you good...."

"No. Thanks, but just not in the mood."

"If you change your mind, let me know," Linus accepted the decision. "You can join me later if you want, whenever."

Chris spent the remaining winter months spiraling slowly down through a self-destructive arc. He kept the coke to a minimum--he'd seen that kind of shit fuck up too many people--but he slept in late every morning, skipped the gym, chain-smoked and drank coffee obsessively through the working day, upped his whiskey intake in the evening. And he screwed around any which way he could. What did it matter? What did _anything _matter? Edward had left and all he had now was brief chemical highs to relieve the pain.

As the weather improved and the days got longer, a couple of encounters combined to send Chris in another direction.

* * *

Chris was sitting in his kitchen late one morning, making a cigarette last as long as possible while musing over lunch options, when he heard a car pull off the main road and make its way down the small private road to his house. Chris wasn't expecting anyone and was immediately curious. A tiny piece of him hung onto to hope that it (and indeed every car that made that turning) might be Edward; but rationally he knew it wasn't. He knew the hum of the engine of Edward's bashed up Ford, and this wasn't it.

He looked out of the window at the old Chevy that had pulled up. He didn't recognize it at all. The driver's side door opened, and a woman got out--

_Claudia_. Chris's heart suddenly leaped into his mouth. He knew what she looked like--he'd seen a photo once, in Edward's wallet a long time ago, before Edward had moved in with him. Shoulder-length brown curly hair, greenish blue eyes; maybe a little older than Edward. This was her.

She was shorter than he'd expected. Very small, actually; couldn't be more than five feet. And as she came around the side of the car into full view, he saw to his surprise that she was disabled. She was walking with the assistance of a floral patterned cane.

The complications were just piling on. There was no time to think; Chris took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Hey," he said cautiously. "I'm Chris. You're Claudia?"

She stopped on his doorstep, leaning on the cane. "I am. May I come in?"

Chris stepped aside and let her in. His heart was thumping wildly. What on earth was she doing here? What was this all about?

She looked around his kitchen, then sat down at the table, propping her cane up alongside her chair. Chris decided it wasn't appropriate to offer coffee, and sat down at another chair instead.

She looked carefully at him for a moment.

"I wanted to meet you, to see what you looked like," she said. "I'm not sure what I expected, but somehow I'm surprised. You look very... normal."

Her voice was calm, collected. Chris grimaced at the description, told himself it was borne of ignorance, and tried not to take offense. He tried to still the nerves in his own voice when he replied, "Yeah. I'm interested to meet you too. I didn't know about--" He gestured at the cane. Close up, he could see the floral pattern was of a passion flower vine.

"Childhood polio," she said. "I spent time in an iron lung when I was small. It's just a limp now, I hardly notice it."

Just one of a multitude of things he hadn't known about Edward's wife. Chris could only think of one thing he knew about Claudia, and said, "You're a friend of Edward's sister, right?"

"Dear Ellie, yes indeed. She's not well at the moment, not at all well, all the stress over Edward has quite worn her down." Claudia shook her head.

Chris was sad to get this confirmation.

Claudia scrutinized him carefully for another minute, then said, "Pastor's quite right. The Devil really does come in all disguises."

Chris stared for a few seconds, wondering if he had heard right. "I'm sorry?"

"Well, I would never have guessed, looking at you across the table, that Satan himself was looking right back at me." Claudia's tone was conversational. "You look so normal. No wonder you were able to tempt Edward away from the holy state of matrimony. But I have faith in God; He will bring back Edward to the light."

Chris looked incredulously at her, and then disbelief was replaced by a cold rage. He stood up, looming as large as he possibly could, and leaned on the kitchen table. "Get the fuck out of my house."

She looked a little surprised, but stood up, picking up her cane. "You don't frighten me."

Chris pointed towards the door. "Get off my property, and don't you dare come back, _ever_. Or I will personally throw you off. Understand?"

She left, muttering under her breath.

When he was quite sure she had gone, her car humming up the road into the distance, Chris collapsed to his knees on the floor and covered his face.

* * *

He couldn't sleep that night. Claudia's words kept ringing around his head. He had met people like her before; several years ago, he'd been prevented from opening a bar when a religious group based nearby had found out about the nature of his other establishments, and objected. How on earth had Edward come to marry someone like that?

Chris gave up on sleep and wandered around the house, trying to remember what he knew about Edward's background.

He recalled that Edward had backed off from men after the abusive relationship he'd had in college with that sports jock fucker, Preston. Chris imagined Edward fresh out of college, making a new start in life, trying to establish himself in a large firm of more experienced architects, emotionally scarred and lonely by himself in Jersey.... Then visiting his sister, keeping a dutiful eye on her for their parents, and finding friendship and companionship with her roommate. Who was disabled; Edward would want to help her. And maybe she wouldn't agree to a relationship without a commitment to marriage....

And Edward would think this was it, the right thing to do, the conventionality he'd been seeking since college. By marrying her he would make her happy and his sister happy and his parents happy, and maybe find that elusive happiness for himself along the way....

Chris couldn't empathize, but he thought he could understand a little more about where Edward was coming from.


	5. Ships That Pass In the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris meets Pretty Boy and Blue Eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A younger pre-infarc House and Wilson are supporting cast here. Their encounters with Chris are the ones told in [ Let Me Take You To A...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/64197).  
> **Warning:** Casual gay sex with strangers, threesomes, exhibitionism, voyeurism. Do you really want to read this?

A couple of days after Claudia's unexpected appearance on his doorstep, Chris had a completely different kind of encounter. He had gone up to his bar on the main road; he'd been going there more often recently because it was next door to a motel, and frequented by lonely travelers away from wives and homes and looking for a surreptitious lay.

He had been sitting at the bar for a while reading a newspaper when the bartender, a guy called Brandon who Chris found rather attractive (but had never laid a finger on; it wasn't a good idea doing the staff) came and leaned on the surface in front of him.

"Pretty boy on your left," Brandon said. "Remind you of anyone?"

Chris glanced idly to the left and his jaw dropped. A young man was perched on a bar stool. He wasn't wearing glasses, but that aside, bore more than a passing resemblance to Edward. Brown eyes, very similar silky brown hair flopped over his forehead.

"I'll be damned," Chris said, wonderingly.

"Edward have a brother?" Brandon asked, jovial.

"No, just a sister." Chris wished he hadn't said that, it reminded him of why Edward had left. He pushed that thought firmly to the back of his mind and looked at the pretty boy down the bar. He wasn't that much like Edward really, not on a careful inspection. But at a quick glance...

Well, there were no two ways about it; Chris was going to hit on this one.

There was an obstacle, though; a boyfriend. Taller, older, the blue-eyed guy noticed Chris's gaze from up the bar instantly. He had a hand on Pretty Boy's knee and barely moved it for a second. Chris didn't actually mind that situation in itself; the ones with boyfriends (if they could be persuaded to share) usually made for the most interesting encounters. But in this case, Chris didn't think Blue Eyes was likely to take sharing without an argument.

"I'll wait for a bit," Chris said to Brandon, who nodded and moved off down the bar.

Half an hour later, during which time Chris periodically smiled at the object of his attraction but without getting a direct smile back, came a window of opportunity. The blue-eyed boyfriend went out to take a call on his cell, leaving the bar with long, decisive strides. Chris signaled to Brandon, who immediately served a Jack Daniels to Pretty Boy and nodded towards Chris to show where it had come from.

And when Pretty Boy looked at Chris to nod a thank-you, Chris was up and across the room to claim the stool that Blue Eyes had vacated.

"Hi, haven't seen you before."

"No, we're just passing through," Pretty Boy replied, looking at Chris through deep brown eyes. Beautiful eyes, dark and searching and the left one drifting slightly lazily.

There was immediate chemistry. Chris could hardly believe it; a connection, like Edward, all over again. No, not quite, not as extreme, not as powerful--but similar.

They chatted for a few minutes, Chris flirting as outrageously as he could, aware that he only had a short time to make an impact. Pretty Boy was a junior doctor, a resident up in Boston, and his name was Wilson. And Blue Eyes had an unusual name, House. They called each other by their last names, which was strange. Chris supposed it was a doctor thing.

House was hostile on his return, snapping and snarling at Chris.

"It's cool. I'm not trying to steal him from you," Chris said, holding up his hands and getting up, not wanting trouble. "You can't blame me for wanting to fuck him, though."

He moved away, but not too far, watched Pretty Boy and Blue Eyes have a brief spirited exchange, and then kiss. Tender, passionate, they looked good together. Chris felt an involuntary surge to his cock.

"Drink up, we're leaving," House said to Wilson, and then glanced at Chris and added, "And I suppose you'd like to watch."

Chris couldn't have had a better line, and didn't hesitate. "If that's an offer, hell yes."

"Not an offer," House said, from between clenched teeth.

But Chris glimpsed a tiny hint of fascination. He thought perhaps this man was curious, the type to experiment, to try new things at least once. Perhaps this would be enough to overcome his possessiveness about Pretty Boy.

Chris moved forward a pace and deliberately dropped into coarse language. "Think about it for a moment. I think you'd like it. Have you ever watched him suck another man's cock while you fuck him? I tell you, you'd find it the biggest turn-on."

Wilson looked amazed and incredulous, but Chris knew he'd won over House almost immediately.

The three of them went back to the motel, and it was everything Chris might have hoped for.

* * *

The following day was bright and sunny. Chris took the Harley and motored down to his beach-side steakhouse, where he needed to sign some legal documents. As he drove, he mulled over his encounter with Wilson, and House too. It had been a hot fucking night by any standards--he'd got a blow job from Pretty Boy while Blue Eyes fucked him from behind, then after a brief respite, he'd got to fuck Pretty Boy with Blue Eyes watching from a chair nearby.

And he'd even snatched a quick kiss with Wilson, against House's rules... nice. Very nice indeed.

Sex with Wilson hadn't been like sex with Edward. With House around; it had been hot in a whole different way, getting off as much from the jealous blue eyes across the room as from the neat tight ass in front of him. And the physical resemblance was not that strong. Wilson was a little chubbier, had smoother skin, a little more chest hair (although not much); and their eyes were different, Edward's eyes were clearer and more piercing, even without his glasses.

But they did have the same hair. When Chris had shut his eyes and grasped Wilson's head during the blow job, that could have been Edward's hair he was holding: a most curious sensation, as it definitely wasn't the same mouth around his cock. It would have been nice to have Wilson without House around perhaps, just once, to see how much it was like being with Edward when they were on their own...

He was definitely over-analyzing this. So he'd had a one night stand with someone who looked just a bit like Edward. So fucking what. He and Wilson had just been like ships passing in the night.

Chris arrived at his steakhouse, greeted the waiter in the lobby, and followed him into the restaurant only to find Pretty Boy and Blue Eyes sitting in the window table, having lunch.

* * *

Another short negotiation later, and House and Wilson agreed to stay in the area another day. Chris sent them back to his house with keys and instructions to make themselves at home. Later he found House and Wilson writhing together on a blanket on the sand, and got a bird's eye close-up from his deckchair.

They went to the club in the evening, and Bob's eyebrows hit his hairline when he met Wilson. Chris swiftly realized that everyone in the place would spot the resemblance to Edward. Fuck 'em: who cared. All Chris wanted right now was to get House out of the way somehow, so he could enjoy Wilson on his own for a bit.

Lady Luck smiled on him; House attracted his own admirer. Dan, one of the regular poker players in the upstairs bar provided a splendid distraction. Chris managed to have a conversation alone with Wilson, and then got Wilson out back into his office on the pretext of better whiskey.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Chris shoved Wilson back against the wall and kissed him hard, pressing his whole body up against Wilson's, pinning him to the wall; pushing his cock, hard and getting harder, up against Wilson's thigh. He could feel Wilson in the same state; suspended in body heat and desire, as he held Wilson's shoulder with one hand, and stroked the side of Wilson's face with the other.

But then--

"No," Wilson said, when Chris paused briefly for air.

This was not part of the plan. Chris was plaintive. "Tell me you don't want this."

"Not like this." Wilson spoke more strongly.

Chris breathed in hard. Having got this far, he rarely got refused. "I had my cock up your ass just yesterday."

Wilson swallowed. "Different. House—I'm not doing this."

Aware of Wilson's warm breath and body inches away, for a second or two Chris came very close to saying _the hell you're not,_ and taking what he wanted come hell or high water.

But Edward's abusive ex Preston swam to the top of his mind, and sanity prevailed. He was not that kind of person. Chris pulled away, found the single malt in his desk drawer as promised, poured some for Wilson.

"You're lonely," Wilson said slowly, standing with the glass in his hand. "You haven't always been like this."

Chris hated that someone he barely knew could read him so well. "Go back to your boyfriend."

* * *

Rejected, alone in his office, miserable and still quite unbelievably horny, self-pity rose in Chris's throat and threatened to choke him. He downed a glass of decent Scotch far too quickly, then delved in the drawer, scrabbling for the plastic bag. He tipped out the remaining white powder (damn; he'd have to lean on Bob again to get some more) on the mirror and snorted a line swiftly, then another. The hit was fast and hard; _fuck_.

He headed back out to the club on a high, wandered downstairs, spoke briefly to people he knew, danced a bit, hardly aware of anything happening around him. Edward was pounding in his head and in his heart; violins playing a strangled, beautiful, tragic tune loud in his ears; brown hair and dark eyes behind owlish spectacles were wherever he looked and yet nowhere...

Except there he was. In sunglasses, how silly, it was nighttime. Chris lunged forward to kiss him, pull him close. _Edward Edward Edward. _

But a voice that wasn't Edward's said "No!" and then strong hands hauled him away and a fist was planted squarely in his nose.

The blow brought Chris back to a sharp awareness of reality; that wasn't Edward, that was Wilson in the sunglasses, and House who'd hit him.

_Fuck fuck fuck._ He'd completely screwed this one up now.

* * *

He found House and Wilson outside, apologized, and offered to drive them back; they'd left their car round at his house.

Mid-journey, House asked into the silence, "Who's the guy in the photograph? The guy in the glasses?"

Chris knew exactly what House was talking about. Chris had just one good photograph of Edward which he'd framed as well as he could, and put on a prominent shelf in his living room. House and Wilson would have spotted it, noticed the resemblance. "My ex."

"And why's he your ex?" House probed.

There was no reason not to tell them; in fact, there was a reason to tell them. Wilson was married too.

"He went back to his wife," Chris explained to House, hesitated, then added, "Don't let the same thing happen to you."

* * *

Back at home, Chris sat in his living room, head in his hands, motionless on the couch in the dark, waiting for the sound of House and Wilson's car driving away which would mean he really was all alone and could drink himself into the ground. Or possibly just break a glass and actually slash his wrists this time; what was the fucking point of anything, after all....

But instead, in came Wilson with the sunglasses on, arms folded, standing in a similar pose to that of Edward's in the photo. In the dim light, with the glasses, it might have been Edward standing there. And although on one level Chris rationally knew that this wasn't Edward, on another level he chose to accept the opportunity that Wilson was giving him, and blurted out, "Edward.... I said some bad shit to you. Christ, I'm sorry."

Wilson drifted across the room towards him, and said in a low voice, "You did. And now you're going to pay for it. I'm gonna fuck you into tomorrow."

Chris jerked involuntarily and he heard House, standing in the doorway, draw a sharp intake of breath. It wasn't Edward, Chris _knew_ it wasn't, but it was an immediate turn-on and just reminiscent enough to work. And somehow Chris knew that a good hard ass-fuck might not have been what he'd wanted, but actually, it was what he needed.

* * *

After duly being fucked into tomorrow by Wilson (and also, at one remove, by House) Chris found they hadn't quite reached tomorrow; the night wasn't over yet. He thought they'd left, he was just starting to feel dull again, when he looked up to see Wilson, barefoot but clad in T-shirt and jeans, walking back into his bedroom.

"House has... borrowed your Harley," Wilson said, a trifle sheepish.

Chris was about to yell _what the fuck?_, when Wilson added hastily, "He said he'll be back in an hour and a half, wanted to take it for a spin. I'm sure he'll be careful with it." Wilson didn't look very sure of that, and continued swiftly, "In the meantime, we can do what we want. Fair swap?"

Chris snorted a little. House loose on his beloved Harley, but Chris got to spend just a bit more time with Wilson. "Actually, yes it is."

Wilson sat down on the bed next to the him and said gently, "I know your ex-boyfriend was Edward, but I don't actually know _your_ name."

"Chris," Chris replied, with a small smile, amused Wilson had done so much with him without knowing his name.

Wilson settled down beside him. "Tell me about Edward, Chris."

"You're offering therapy?"

Chris felt Wilson grin in the darkness. "Well, I am a doctor."

Chris opened his mouth to say _I don't want to talk about him _then softened slightly. Why not level, at least a bit.

"There's not much to say. I was a complete fucking idiot," Chris confessed. "I thought he'd left his wife for me and that would be it. I didn't realize it was more complicated than that. I... I miss him." _Every moment of every day. _"A lot." _I didn't even know how much I missed him, until I met you.  
_   
"Huh." Wilson snuggled into his arm. "Have you told him that?"

"He wouldn't talk to me on the phone," Chris said, and realized as he spoke how pathetic that sounded. Godamnit, he'd hardly tried at all; and he'd tried too soon, before he'd really learned what had happened, what the situation had been.

"You should go see him," Wilson said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. "Tell him you love him."

Chris hadn't said _that_, but it wasn't something he wanted to deny. "Yeah." He ruffled Wilson's hair gently, then broke one of House's ground rules and moved to kiss Wilson.

Wilson responded, and they made out for a while, lying next to each other in the darkness, communicating only by touch, stroking, caressing. Chris ran his hands up inside Wilson's T-shirt, down into his jeans, easing the clothes off and away. Wilson's naked body was sleek and smooth, his hair silky, his eyelashes long and ticklish against Chris's face. Wilson's cock initially soft with just a little life of its own, and then gradually hardening; Chris finding his own cock mirroring the movement, and then matching it, rubbing against each other, slipping and sliding towards an intense, glorious climax when Wilson clutched at his arms and shuddered with release; Chris cradled Wilson's head and joined him with a buck of the hips and a long, drawn-out gasp.

He lay there afterwards with Wilson wrapped in his arms, and thought of Edward, and he knew he had to see Edward again. He had to try one more time.

* * *

He tried the very next day. Edward's architectural firm was based in a large building which housed a number of companies, with its own basement parking lot. Chris went down there in the late afternoon and lurked around Edward's car at roughly the time he thought Edward would be leaving, hoping not to bump into any of Edward's work colleagues.

Lo and behold, Edward appeared right on time, walking quickly, wearing a dark long coat.

Chris hadn't seen him in nearly four months. Four long months. Chris's immediate reaction was a huge pang of loss along with a rush of renewed adoration, followed by a swift appraisal. Edward had lost weight--definitely--and he looked stressed. There were worry lines on his forehead and a hunch to his shoulders that hadn't been there before.

Edward approached his car, fumbling in a pocket for keys. Chris stepped out of the shadows and said softly, "Edward?"

Edward stopped short and looked up, eyes wide behind his glasses. "Chris?"

"I don't want to cause any trouble, I just had to talk to you for a few minutes," Chris said, keen to get out what he wanted to say before he got slapped down.

Edward looked at the ground. Chris hastened on.

"Edward, I was a crappy boyfriend. I know that now, I never took the trouble to really get to know you, talk to you, find out about your job, your family, anything. I was too busy being a selfish ass and having a good time. So if you want me to fuck off and never come back, I'll understand. But..."

A lump in his throat stalled his flow. He swallowed painfully and carried on. "I love you, Edward, I really do. And I want you back, I want you to come back and live with me _so fucking much_... if you'll give me another chance to try and get to know you, properly this time, I swear I won't screw up again."

There, he'd said what he wanted to say. He waited on tenterhooks for a response, any response...

"I was a crappy boyfriend too," Edward said, a sound like a sob in his voice. He reached up and rubbed his nose, his hair falling down over his eyes. "Chris, I can't tell you how good it is to see you. I can't talk right now, honestly I can't, but give me some time, okay?"

"Yeah." This was better than Chris had dared hope. "You know where I live." _You built it; our house.  
_   
Edward nodded, apparently too choked up to speak. He opened his car door, got in, and drove away.

Chris watched him go, and crossed his fingers, and hoped.

* * *

A week later on a Thursday night, Chris was in his office at the club. He'd been intending to look through some accounts but wasn't feeling patient enough to work. He wondered whether to wander out to the bar instead, see if anyone he knew was in, say hi to the poker players, chat to the staff. Maybe pick someone up... but Chris hadn't felt inclined to do that since his encounter with House and Wilson.

His phone rang and he glanced at the display; internal call, Bob. He picked up. "Hey."

"Chris!" Bob's usually staid voice was positively electric. "Edward's here. He just came in the door. He said hi to me and the cloakroom girls, and now he's on his way upstairs."

"What!" Chris sat bolt upright, hardly daring to believe it.

"I thought you'd want to know." Bob's voice returned to staid.

"Damn right I do." Chris felt his heart start to hammer relentlessly on his ribs. "How is he? Does he look..." Chris didn't know what to say. _Happy? Angry? _Like he was coming to kiss and make up, or to deal a death blow to their relationship? Surely he wouldn't come to the club for the latter--

"Fuck knows," Bob said, a touch of humor evident. "You got one minute and then you can figure it out for yourself."

Bob hung up, and Chris put the phone down, and stood up, and had no idea what to do, what to say, what to expect. He pictured Edward making his way up the stairs to the private bar, and realized Edward had chosen to run the most daunting gauntlet to get to him. Edward would have to go past the doorman (and if the doorman tried to stop him, Chris vowed, then he was _so fired_); then through the bar past the poker players who would all watch him; past the barman who would recognize him like a shot; and back to the office--

There was a knock at the door.

"Hey," Chris called, finding his voice had turned into a croak.

And Edward walked in. A little thinner, and a little paler, but otherwise every bit as gorgeous and perfect as he ever had been. When he spoke, his voice quivered ever so slightly.

"I thought I could just walk away from my family and I can't. And then I thought I could just walk away from you, and I can't do that either." Edward paused, and swallowed. "I love you too, Chris, I really do, and if you'll have me back, we can work this out."

Chris stepped out from behind his desk, wrapped his arms around Edward and held him tight.


	6. Rediscovering Intimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris and Edward rebuild their relationship. Linus has a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parallel House/Wilson fics are [Random Encounter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/64535) and [A Spinning Coin](http://archiveofourown.org/works/64782). House features in this part, although only very briefly.   
> **Warning:** Non-monogamous all-male sexual relationships, risk-taking with sexually transmitted disease.

"Chris!" A rich throaty voice hailed across the airport. Chris looked around, and there was Linus, sombrero clad and beaming, pushing a laden baggage cart across the Arrivals floor. "How lovely to see you!"

"Great to see you too." Chris was warm and happy. They exchanged handshakes and back thumps.

"Thank-you so much for picking us up, so much more civilized than a taxi after such a long journey." Linus was effusive. "And, Edward! My life is complete!"

Edward stepped forward, and his glasses slid down his nose as Linus hugged him and rattled on, "My dear boy, I can't tell you how happy I am to see you again." He looked around. "And you have to meet my new friend! Ryan, come and say hello. Chris, Edward, this is Ryan."

A slender young man smiled shyly at them but stayed behind his own baggage cart. He had soft tufty brown hair and hazel eyes.

They exchanged hellos, and started to head towards the exit. Chris fell into step with Linus and muttered, "So, what happened to Philippe?"

Edward, on Linus's other side, looked equally inquiring.

"The dear boy decided to stay behind in Rio," Linus let out a theatrical sigh. "The carnivals there, Chris, you wouldn't believe… He fell in with a fun crowd and thought he'd hang out there a bit longer. I went on to Buenos Aires and met Ryan here working in a bar. He'd been traveling around South America but ran out of money. And as he's never been to the States, and wanted to, I brought him back with me."

Chris grinned; it was a very Linus story. Edward dropped back a little to walk next to Ryan, and Linus muttered to Chris, "Edward is just more divine than ever, Chris. I do hope you're taking better care of him this time around."

"I'm trying," said Chris.

* * *

He was trying, he was trying very hard indeed.

The night at the club when Edward had come back to him, they'd gone home and talked for a long time. This time Edward shared. He talked frankly to Chris about Claudia, and Eleanor, and his parents out in Florida; how disappointed and angry and upset they'd all been, how he felt he'd let them all down, how hard it had been to try and shut them out. Chris couldn't remember having a conversation like it with anyone, ever. They'd sat in the kitchen and drank hot chocolate, and talked until the sun had begun seeping in through the windows, dancing on the distant waves. They'd finally gone to bed just as daylight arrived properly.

Claudia, Edward explained painfully, simply didn't accept what had happened. When he'd left her the first time, once over her initial hysteria, she'd become convinced that this was an aberration, that she just had to sit it out and pray, and her husband would eventually see sense and return. And that had happened, so she figured it would happen again.

"She's not even all that upset, Chris… when I told her today I was going back to you she just shook her head, said it's a phase, I'd be back."

Chris found this sinister, and shuddered accordingly.

Edward's sister Eleanor, on the other hand, had reacted very differently. Chris learned that the event that had caused Edward to finally crack and leave before had been the news that Ellie had had a nervous breakdown, been found by police wandering the streets in her nightdress, and been put in hospital. Claudia had called to inform him that this was entirely his fault.

"She's out of the hospital now, back at work," Edward said forlornly. "But she's still terribly traumatized. And if it wasn't for Claudia looking after her I don't know what she'd do." He swallowed. "It took me a while to realize that gratitude wasn't actually the best reason to stay with Claudia."

"I'd like to meet Eleanor," Chris was bold. He didn't actually want to, but felt he really had to show he was willing here.

"I don't think that's a good idea," was Edward's gut reaction. He immediately started looking thoughtful. "Or maybe… I don't know, Chris…"

"It might help persuade her that I'm not the Devil Incarnate."

"That's Claudia." Edward looked glum. "And she's not going to change her mind on that. Ellie though, perhaps… Let me think about that one, Chris."

* * *

Once back with Chris, Edward made one swift immediate change to his life; he took a deep breath and quit his job.

Chris tried to find out more about the abuse he'd been getting there, but Edward was very close-mouthed about it. He did explain, however, that his work colleagues had been been congratulatory over his marriage to Claudia.

"They had a collection and gave us a very generous wedding gift, and a big card which everyone signed. Some of the guys took me out for a bachelor party a few days before, too. So I just didn't dare tell anyone when I left her, for you." Edward sighed. "And then she walked in one day, and told the receptionist that she wanted to see me and I'd left her for another man. It was all round the company in no time."

"It sounds fucking awful." Chris tried to imagine. He hadn't spent much time working in an office environment, it didn't suit him, but he knew what it was like, how gossipy and bitchy people could be.

"You could say that." Edward was rueful. "And of course, the thing was, I deserved almost all the grief I got. They thought I was a cheating bastard who'd betrayed my poor crippled wife. And I couldn't deny it, I _was _a cheating bastard who'd betrayed my poor crippled wife, and I really did hate myself for that..." He swallowed. "Still do. But some people took the line that I was not only a cheating bastard but a sick perverted one... exactly the people who would have slapped me on the back and congratulated me if I'd cheated with another _woman_, for fuck's sake. That was bad."

"So what did they do?" Chris made another attempt to find out.

Edward shrugged. "Some people wouldn't talk to me, and that was actually the best thing. Other people, it was just constant snide remarks and put-downs, and rude notes... Nothing that I could complain about, even if I wanted to, which I didn't...I spent as much time as possible out of the office, doing site visits and surveys and stuff, but I had to go in sometimes and it just didn't let up."

"You're best off leaving," Chris stated the obvious.

"Yeah. Unemployment beckons." Edward was despondent.

"You know you don't need to pay me a cent for anything," Chris felt the need to say. He wasn't exactly rich but the house was his, clear and paid for, his establishments were flourishing, and his income could support them both.

"Thanks. But I don't want to live off you, and anyway I need a job--I have to pay support to Claudia," Edward said soberly. "She doesn't earn a lot, not enough to keep our apartment--her apartment--and I can't let her down."

"Oh." It hadn't occurred to Chris that Edward would need to keep supporting Claudia financially. The idea stuck in his craw. "Like, alimony?" Chris hesitated, then added boldly, "Are you going to get a divorce?"

Edward was silent for a moment and Chris felt his heart sink like a stone; that Edward wasn't going to divorce her because he didn't want to, which meant this commitment wasn't really a commitment...

But instead Edward replied quietly, "I asked her for a divorce, but she won't give me one."

"Really?" Somehow Chris hadn't expected this.

"Really. She says she doesn't believe in it... but it's basically bullshit. She doesn't want to admit that we both made the most monumental mistake... She thinks as long as we're still married that I might come back some day... And she hates you, Chris, she really does."

"Big surprise that is."

"Well, no, but... that day she went to see you? I didn't know that's where she'd gone, but she told me about it when she got back, and she was venomous about you, Chris, she really was. The viper in the pit, the serpent in the Garden of Eden, all that kind of crap. If she gave me a divorce... it would like admitting she lost and you won."

"Well, that's fucking great." Chris didn't know quite how to react to that. Edward wanted a divorce, which was great; she wouldn't agree, which sucked. "Can't you do anything about it?"

"Not under New York divorce law. That's where we got married, and she still lives there there. I think we just have to wait it out, get on with our lives, and hope she changes her mind," Edward concluded.

* * *

Edward wasn't unemployed for long. Fortunately he had a good portfolio of work and some satisfied customers willing to give him a reference. He got another job in a different firm of architects, a large company, further away from home but still well within driving distance. And although he took an initial pay cut, he soon found the commissions rolling in. His new firm took note and gave him a raise, and he was more or less as well-off as before.

In the meantime, Chris and Edward set about where they'd left off rediscovering their intimacy, the interests they'd been sharing with each other, their routines. They went out a lot, but stayed close together and held off fucking other people for a while.

Chris often thought affectionately about Wilson, and occasionally wondered what might have been, if it wasn't for Edward. And if it wasn't for House. Chris told Edward about the vivid two-night sexual encounter he'd had with a man who looked rather like him, and as he'd anticipated, Edward was amused and intrigued.

"What do you mean, he looked like me?"

"Same hair." Chris ruffled Edward's. "Brown eyes, although he didn't wear glasses. About your height, about the same age as you... similarly fuckable..."

"I don't know why you even wanted me back," Edward teased.

"He had a boyfriend already." Chris hesitated, and added, "And a wife."

At this additional point of similarity Edward looked abashed. "Oh. Well, it's fun hearing about it."

Chris felt that Wilson would like to know he had gotten back with Edward, and some six months later went to the trouble of mailing a photograph of them together. He addressed it to _Dr. James Wilson, Resident, Mass Gen Hospital, Boston,_ and hoped that would suffice.

Although Edward never met Wilson, he did meet House on one completely unexpected occasion. It was about a year after Edward had come back to Chris. Edward's car had broken down on the freeway and left him stranded, and he'd managed to make his way in a cab to one of Chris's more far-flung establishments, a roadside diner. Chris arrived to pick him up, and got the shock of his life when he walked in the door and found Edward sitting chatting happily away to House. What the _hell?--_

"Hey, Chris." Edward greeted him happily. "You know House?"

"Yeah." Of course Edward wouldn't know who House was, wouldn't associate him with the man who looked like him; Chris hadn't mentioned any names.

House was looking at Edward through a clinical but distinctly lecherous eye. Chris made a point of kissing Edward warmly (message to House: _hands off, he's mine_) and sat down. Chris had a chance for a brief conversation alone with House when Edward took a call on his cell, and ascertained that Wilson was fine but not around, which was both disappointing and a relief.

That night Chris had the most stupendous dream; he, Edward, Wilson and House all in a hotel room together, naked, horny, having the most glorious fuckfest imaginable. It culminated in Edward and Wilson fucking each other, Wilson topping but Edward on top, with a riveting moment when they rolled over and over together, so similar and yet different, like two sides of a spinning coin....

Marvelous dream.

* * *

Chris did eventually get to meet Eleanor. A suitable occasion came up when Chris and Edward went to New York for a weekend to see a show, go shopping and hang out at a bar owned by a friend of Chris's. Edward took a deep breath and arranged a meeting with Eleanor.

Edward engineered the least threatening and most neutral environment for the meeting as possible, a coffee shop in the middle of the afternoon. Coffee, unlike lunch or dinner, could last as long or short a time as possible, and a coffee shop avoided the possible stress of her having to act as hostess and have them in her home.

They got there promptly, but she wasn't there. Chris wondered if Edward had managed to get the day or time wrong, but Edward was adamant he hadn't.

"She's never on time for anything," Edward explained laconically as they settled into large leather armchairs with lattes. "It caused problems all through school and made it very difficult to hold down jobs…"

They were there waiting for about fifteen minutes before a young woman walked in with dark eyes like her brother. She had long brown hair streaked with fairer, sunkissed strands, and wore an floor length olive green skirt that swished around her ankles.

She came straight up to them and Chris wondered if she'd been hovering outside for a while, watching them. "Hello, Eddie."

"Ellie." They stood up to greet her and she kissed her brother on the cheek.

She then looked at Chris. "And you must be Chris."

"That's right, and you're Eleanor? Pleased to meet you." Chris wanted to be polite, to impress.

She sat down and stared at Chris, her mouth open a little. "Claudia was right… you look so normal."

Chris felt his hackles start to rise. "And why wouldn't I?"

"Well, you know," Eleanor flapped an arm helplessly.

Chris wondered if she'd expected him to have horns and a forked tail. He really couldn't think of any response that wasn't hostile or rude or both.

"How's work going, Ellie?" Edward cut in, clearly desperate to avoid Chris either exploding on the spot or walking out.

"Very busy." Ellie was obviously happy to change the subject too. She and her brother talked for a few minutes about her work and his work. She was surprised to hear he'd changed jobs. "What was wrong with the old place?"

Edward flushed a little but managed to evade the difficult topic. "Oh, I'd been there a couple of years, it was time for a change."

"And what do you do…Chris?" Ellie asked, habitual good manners apparently the only thing making her bring him into the conversation.

"I own some restaurants and bars, and a club." Chris was solid.

"How nice. I like dancing, perhaps if I'm ever in New Jersey we could go to your club," Eleanor said with admirable naivity. Edward actually choked on his coffee, and Chris was hugely entertained by the idea for a few seconds.

Eleanor looked at her watch soon afterwards, and said, "I have to go now." She wasn't looking at Chris any more, evading his eye as if it might cast some spell over her, as she addressed her brother. "Sorry that was quick, but I'm glad we met. Now I can tell Mom and Dad that I met your… roommate."

"He's not my roommate!" Edward said, the first hint of impatience coming to the fore. "He's my boyfriend. My partner."

_So get used to it, _Chris thought but did not dare say. He was pleased by Edward's reaction, though, and dared to reach over, curling a hand over Edward's arm. Edward reached out and gripped Chris's hand tightly. Eleanor's eyes went big.

"I can cope with this better if I think of him as your roommate," she said, and this appeared to stun Edward into silence. She stood up, gave them a little wave, and left.

Edward put his head in his hands.

"Well," he said eventually. "That could have been worse."

"Yeah." Chris had never envisioned that they would get on really well and he'd become part of the family, but he was saddened to see just how unrealistic that notion was. Strained cordiality seemed as good as it was going to get. Despite that, Chris was pleased he'd met her. "So, your Mom and Dad next?"'

"Huh. I don't think so." Edward sighed. "Gimme a few years to lay some groundwork, maybe."

* * *

When Linus came back from South America, with Ryan in tow, things were good. Chris was happy again and this time he was confident that Edward was happy too, and not bottling up issues anymore. Linus spent a month settling back into his home, then announced to all and sundry that he was throwing a party. Edward hadn't been to one of Linus's parties before.

"Lots of men and lots of sex," Chris explained laconically. "But we can just go and hang out, we don't have to join in."

"Really, Chris," Edward teased him. "You mean you're not tempted by Ryan?"

Chris was indeed very tempted by Ryan. He was the shy type of stray cat, lurking in doorways and hiding in other rooms when they visited. Chris had tried to draw him out of his shell a bit, and been enchanted by his soft eyes, expressive hands and lilting brogue.

"Maybe," Chris admitted, grinning. "But don't you know, Linus is only throwing this party because he wants to get in _your _pants."

Edward grinned back, obviously only too well aware.

The party was smaller and more selective than some Linus had thrown in the past, and Chris knew most people there. He and Edward wandered from room to room, where groups of people were sitting and chatting and drinking and smoking various substances. At one point they ran into a guy Edward hadn't met before called Ziggy.

"This is Ziggy, also known as Detective-Lieutenant Bowie from the local police," Chris introduced them.

"Oh! Hi!" Edward was a little flustered. They shook hands and moved on. Edward muttered to Chris, "A policeman, here?...."

"He's a semi-regular poker player at the club," Chris explained. "I don't know him that well, but he's a good friend of Linus's, has been for years.

"Guess it could be useful to be friends with a cop."

Chris nodded. "I've never known any of Linus's parties to be raided by police yet."

They joined a group which included Linus, and after a while Linus and Edward moved away from the others, talking and laughing quietly between themselves, sitting close. Chris could have stayed with them, but chose to move away instead.

Linus grabbed his arm just before he left. "You're looking for Ryan?"

"Yeah." Chris was a little surprised.

Linus hesitated, then said, "Don't jump him too quickly, talk to him first, Chris, talk to him."

That was odd. Chris moved off, pondering what this might mean. He found Ryan in a far corner of the main living room, curled up by himself in a broad padded seat along a windowsill. The curtain was partly drawn, hiding him from view.

"Hey."

"Hi." Ryan smiled warmly at Chris. Chris sat down in the window seat, leaning against the opposite wall to Ryan. He kicked off his shoes and shifted his feet up on the seat so they nudged against Ryan's feet. Ryan didn't draw away.

"Having fun?" Chris was careful to put a note of irony in his voice.

"Too many people around for me." Ryan sipped beer. His tufty brown hair was sticking out in all directions; Chris found it very cute. "Edward here?"

"Him and Linus are getting on well," Chris said, his tone droll.

"Huh." Ryan smiled, a happy shine appearing in his eyes. "I remember when we were in Buenos Aires and Linus got your email, saying Edward was back, he was so pleased. Told me that Edward was quite the most fuckable guy he'd ever met."

That made Chris laugh. "Linus exaggerates." He reached up and tweaked the curtain so it shielded his side of the window seat too, sealing them in a cozy nest.

"He also said that you two were soulmates who hadn't quite realized it yet," Ryan went on.

That made Chris pause. "I've realized it now."

"That's cute."

"Yeah. You know, you're pretty damn fuckable yourself." Chris was bold. He reached forward with a socked foot, running gently up Ryan's leg towards his crotch. Ryan started to breathe a little faster and spots of pink appeared in his cheeks.

C'm'ere," Chris whispered, and Ryan levered himself up and scrambled across the window seat towards Chris. They kissed gently, tongues flickering lightly; Chris tasted beer and breathed in shampoo. Then Ryan settled himself down against Chris's chest. Chris ran a hand through Ryan's hair, smoothing and ruffling the tufts.

"Chris, there's something I should tell you," Ryan said abruptly, and went on straight away. "I'm positive."

_HIV positive. _Oh. Crap. This was what Linus had been warning him about. Chris's hand stilled for a second in Ryan's hair, then carried on stroking. Five years ago, a statement like that would have made him run a mile... but they were all a bit better informed now. "Sorry to hear that." He pulled Ryan a little closer. "You're on meds?"

"I am now. Couldn't get them when I was traveling... it was one of the reasons Linus insisted on me coming to the States with him." Ryan sighed a little. "He's been great. He's a horndog, but he's got a big heart."

Chris nodded, knowing Linus would have moved heaven and earth to get Ryan the best possible treatment. Linus was generous, wealthy and well-connected.

"You wanna back off, hey, no hard feelings," Ryan added. And just for a second, Chris felt Ryan's heart thumping against his own chest, looked down and caught a glimpse of a vulnerable young man steeling himself for a rejection.

"No. That's what these are for, right?" Chris felt in his jeans pocket and brought out a foil wrapped square. Ryan nodded, and smiled, and Chris put his hand on the back of Ryan's head and pulled him in for another kiss.

They made out for a while, then Ryan sat back on his knees and began to shed clothes. It was cramped there on the window seat, but Chris didn't want to break the mood by suggesting they go elsewhere. They had just enough privacy from the room behind the curtain, and it was pitch black outside behind them. So he too removed clothes, until they were both naked and eying each other's cocks, long and hard in anticipation.

"Lie down," Chris murmured reaching in a pocket for lube, and Ryan complied. The seat wasn't long enough for him to stretch out fully, so he hoisted his knees up and planted his feet against the wall. Chris straddled him, bending low to kiss him, then reached down to his ass gently, to stretch him. Chris sank a slick finger in easily, and then another, probing and when he hit Ryan's prostate Ryan let out a strangled gasp and his body convulsed. He flung out his arms, one making the curtain billow out, the other hitting the window pane hard enough to leave a bruise.

"Fuck me," Ryan gasped. "Now, please, God--"

Chris ripped open the foil packet and rolled on the condom, careful to do it properly. He braced a hand against the wall above Ryan's head, and used the other to ease himself inside Ryan. It felt tight and hot and _gorgeous_; oh yes, in and out, watching Ryan's face contort and sweat break out on his brow; Chris panted harder with each thrust, further and further in until he could barely haul out again, reaching down to clasp and pump Ryan's leaking reddened cock.

Ryan came first, gasping and spurting over his own chest, and the movement sent Chris over the edge too, climaxing deep inside Ryan, pressing and pushing until he was spent. He pulled out and collapsed next to Ryan, squeezing uncomfortably between Ryan's inert body and the cold glass window, and dozed off for a little while.

He woke to find Ryan fast asleep, long eyelashes batting his cheeks in unconscious dreams. Chris patted a stray tuft of hair down and watched him for a few minutes. Deciding not to wake Ryan, Chris cleaned himself up as best he could and pulled on his clothes.

He ventured out from behind the curtain, to find Linus in the living room. Linus saw him and came over immediately.

"So that's where you've been! Ryan's behind there, is he?"

"Yeah." Chris ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it down.

"Looks like a good time was had by all." Linus hesitated, looking uncharacteristically worried.

Chris knew what Linus was wondering. "Don't worry. He told me."

"Ah. Good. Well, I hoped he would." Linus was obviously relieved. "Thought about telling you myself, but didn't want to break his confidence."

"Of course not," Chris hastened to reassure. "I thought Edward was with you?"

"My bedroom," Linus said with a wink, and moved off behind the curtain.

* * *

Chris duly found Edward in Linus's bedroom, in bed, half-asleep, looking distinctly post-coital.

"Hey." Edward smiled sleepily. "Where've you been? I did look for you."

"With Ryan."

"_With _Ryan?" Edward quirked a significant eyebrow.

"Yeah." Chris flopped down next to him.

"Sorry I missed it." Edward shifted to hug Chris towards him.

"He's a bit shy," Chris said, and hugged Edward back.

"I was thinking," Edward mumbled, his voice dulled with sleep. "If we were both careful to use condoms with anyone else, always, maybe we could go bareback, just the two of us. Dunno what you think about that..."

What Chris was thinking was that he had never realized the electrifying effect of the word _bareback _before. He and Edward been punctilious about using condoms for penetrative sex, although they'd taken some risks with blow jobs. It was silly perhaps, but his cock, which he previously would not have believed in a million years could move on its own for at least another hour, actually jumped at this new thought.


	7. Come As You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barebacking and a broken ankle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning:** Unprotected sex, non-monogamous relationships, rimming, possible slight disability kink, risk-taking with STD. Where else can this fic go?...

They got tested first, of course, for every STD in the book; and after a slightly nerve-wracking period, both of them got the all-clear. They had a swift serious discussion, and agreed solemnly that they would both still use condoms if having sex with anyone else. Period.

"Even Linus?" Edward asked.

"Especially Linus," Chris said firmly. He'd known Linus a long time and seen his friend take some very stupid risks on occasion. He hoped that having Ryan around would concentrate Linus's mind about this kind of thing. Talking of which...

"I need to tell you something. Ryan's HIV-positive." Chris swallowed a little.

"Oh." There was a pause while Edward digested that information. His lips pursed a little. "You like him a lot, don't you?"

"Yeah," Chris admitted. "But if you don't want me to, I won't fuck him again."

"I didn't say that." Edward was swift. "Just... be careful, alright? With oral as well as anal, okay?"

Chris nodded solemnly. "Promise."

Thus agreed, Chris and Edward went straight to bed.

They were there a long time, each taking it in turn to fuck the other with splendid intimacy. Both of them wanted to wait until the last possible moment and then come inside the other, but holding back wasn't easy. The novel lack of rubber excited them both, the lost layer of latex adding a whole new thrill and sensation, as if a whole new range of sensitive nerve endings had opened up to them.

Edward came first, topping as they fucked chest to chest, gasping heavy breaths into each other's mouths. His floppy hair was matted with sweat and eyes squeezed tight shut, as he clung to Chris's shoulders and shuddered in release. Chris took a sharp intake of breath, feeling the spillage inside himself, such a private thing to allow, so unfamiliar and yet so _right_, right now, here with Edward.

Chris gave Edward a minute to recover, then said roughly, "My turn?" and without waiting for an answer, flipped Edward on his back to take him in the same position. He pushed Edward's legs wide, blessed natural lubricant easing the way. Edward arched his back and thrust his hips forward, taking Chris inside him with ease. It felt hot and tight and slippery and heavenly, almost unbearably close, and Chris gasped and choked on his own saliva as he came with a huge ecstatic rush.

"That was _excellent_," Chris mumbled, as they lay next to each in a post-climatic stupor. Hell, he couldn't remember a better orgasm.

"Hey, we can do it like this every day now," Edward mumbled back.

They fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms, drifting on a happy sticky tide of intimacy.

* * *

As well as opening the way for some newly awesome sex, barebacking also worked to assist their commitment to each other. Chris found himself much more sure that Edward would stay with him now. The occasional paranoia he had experienced, that Edward might go running off back to the bosom of his wife and family, dissipated gradually and then vanished. And once Chris relaxed about this, relaxed into their relationship, he found Edward responded in the same vein.

Time passed, and they became increasingly established as a couple. They'd found ways to live together harmoniously now, to be there for each other when needed, and give the other space and time on their own when not. Chris learned to tease Edward instead of shouting at him when he broke a plate or knocked over a wineglass; Edward learned to give Chris free rein in the kitchen and not to put his books or CDs back on the shelves in the wrong order.

They continued to do things like go running in each other's company, and Chris knew it was a good sign when they started to take vacations together, beginning with a short winter break skiing not far away.

Later Chris reflected ruefully how ironic it was that they'd spent four days on the ski slopes without any injury worse than bumps and bruises, only for him to break his ankle only a few days after they got home.

* * *

It was a Saturday morning and they'd been out running together, out along the coastal path and then back along the beach. They were almost home, jogging along the sand, and suddenly Chris felt his right foot hit something hard. It caught him off balance and he slipped sideways. The piece of driftwood he'd trodden on skated out sharply from underneath him, and down he went in a flurry of sand. As he fell, Chris felt his foot jar against the ground and wrench, and then a cracking sound--

He sat on the sand gasping with surprise, and looked down at his leg. His foot was hanging sideways at a very odd looking angle. But he couldn't feel any pain at all, which seemed odd.

"Chris!" Edward had jogged a few paces past, stopped, came back. Chris looked up at him, and the expression of horror on Edward's face suddenly made the situation real. "Chris, are you--Fuck! _Fuck_! Your ankle!"

"I think it's broken," Chris said with surprising clarity as agonizing PAIN started to shoot through his foot. His stomach churned, and the world wobbled around his head.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Chris was in hospital, no longer in pain but semi-high on a cloud of drugs. Edward was by his bedside, still wearing his sweaty running gear, his forehead creased with worry.

Chris had indeed broken his ankle, and he was embarrassed that such a ridiculously silly fall on the beach (on soft sand no less) had done it. Chris had always been very healthy, he'd never broken a bone before and had been aghast to learn that he now needed surgery to fix it and that it would take months to heal fully.

"Months? You're kidding!"

"'Fraid so," the doc said. "You won't be running any marathons any time soon."

But the worst thing so far had not been the pain, the inconvenience, or the embarrassment, but the hospital admission process. In the absence of any living relatives, Chris had long ago put Linus down as his emergency contact and next-of-kin on all official forms, and had never thought to update this.

When Chris had passed out briefly on arrival at the hospital, a nurse had told Edward to leave the room unless he was family, and had been distinctly unimpressed by Edward's protests that he _was _family. Chris had woken to find Edward absent but audible, distressed shouting from the hallway; a few more minutes and hospital security would have thrown him out of the building.

"You've gotta update your records," Edward said now, gripping Chris's hand. His glasses slid down his nose, but he didn't let go of Chris to push them back up again. "I can't go through this kind of crap again."

"Yeah," Chris agreed woozily.

"We should do it now, this instant," Edward insisted. "Before you go into surgery tomorrow. I can't stand it--Chris, if anything happened to you during the operation, if anything went wrong and they wouldn't tell me, wouldn't let me see you--"

"We can fix this." Chris felt his eyelids closing involuntarily. "Call Linus, he'll know a lawyer, or whatever."

"Right." Edward nodded.

"You should change your records, too," Chris added, the haze lifting long enough for a new concern to emerge.

Edward froze briefly, then clutched at Chris's hand, digging in nails almost hard enough to break skin. "Shit! Claudia would still be my next-of-kin."

Chris shuddered. "Fuck that. No way."

"Seriously. Can you imagine?" Edward's eyes were wide. "If anything happened to me, she would be the one they called, she'd be the one making any decisions."

"God. No. Call Linus." Chris managed to say, before sleep overtook him.

* * *

Twenty-four hours later, Chris and Edward had both signed documents hastily put together by Linus's recommended friendly neighborhood lawyer who specialized in this kind of thing, and Chris was preparing to go under a general anesthetic for surgery.

"You visit my office when you're out of here," the lawyer said, nodding around the hospital room. "We should go through all your paperwork properly. Tie up all the legal loopholes."

"We will." Edward was solemn.

"Just as soon as I've got my ankle pinned together," Chris said.

* * *

Chris woke after the surgery to find he now had several large screws holding his ankle bones together and a soft cast bandaging up his foot. He left the hospital in a wheelchair, Edward pushing him. Tired and sick and giddy from painkilling drugs, Chris hated it, hated that he couldn't walk, could barely stand even with the aid of crutches. He couldn't even begin to comprehend the prospect of months of helplessness ahead.

Not to mention the dampening effect this was bound to put on their sex life, as Chris mournfully remarked once they were home and he was lying in bed with his foot propped up on several pillows.

"Actually," Edward said reaching down to tickle Chris's toes which were sticking out of the cast. "I rather like it."

"You're not telling me that my broken foot turns you on." As he spoke, Chris remembered that Edward's wife limped and walked with a cane. Damnit. He hoped he wasn't discovering a hidden fetish of Edward's. Chris had every intention of getting better and back to normal as quickly as possible.

"No, no. Just those toes." Edward leaned over and kissed Chris on the lips. "And I guess I kinda like the idea of you being helpless for a bit."

This didn't sound remotely attractive to Chris. He'd never been the needy, helpless type. "Dependent on you?"

"Not so much that as powerless to stop me doing what I want." Edward slid a hand inside Chris's shirt. Chris yelped a little; Edward's hand was cold.

It soon warmed up though, and Edward deftly peeled Chris's shirt away and undid his pants. Chris shifted a little on the bed, wanting to move around more. He would have liked to grab Edward and flip him over, wrestle him onto his stomach...

But he couldn't. His leg remained still, propped up on pillows. Edward worked around it deftly, pushing Chris's pants and boxers down enough to free his cock, now rapidly hardening. Edward removed his own clothes rapidly, and moved to kneel over Chris's face. Chris grunted a little and took Edward's cock in his mouth, sucking, moving his head back and forth as best he could. Then to Chris's surprise, Edward pulled out and shifted forwards, presenting his asshole instead.

Fuck, they didn't often do this. Chris shut his eyes and lapped, probing with his tongue, tasting musk and listening to Edward's quietly strangled hiccuping cries above. The intimacy was both glorious and terrifying, not being able to move while Edward's body was trembling right above his head. Chris hadn't shaved for the last couple of days, not since he'd gone into hospital, and he let his stubble graze Edward's butt cheeks. He licked and nuzzled at Edward's entrance, choking slightly from his own saliva; he wasn't used to doing this lying down.

Edward eventually heaved himself away backwards, and Chris enjoyed a brief glorious sight as Edward's own engorged and throbbing cock came into view. But Edward was occupied in reaching for Chris's cock, a few swift jerks to hoist it upright, and then lowering himself slowly--whoa, _fuck_, faster!--onto it.

Chris bucked his pelvis as hard as he could, which wasn't as hard as he wanted, not with one leg completely immobile. But Edward cried out, and started to move up and down, supporting his weight on his feet splayed on the bed and his palms flat on Chris's chest. Chris reached out to grasp Edward's cock, Edward's fingers tweaked Chris's nipples and they built up a rhythm, Edward moaning as he fucked himself on Chris's cock until Chris came with a last almighty effort pushing upwards. Edward took it, then reached down to circle Chris's fist with his own hands, the two of them jerking Edward to climax, spurting across Chris's chest.

Maybe, Chris thought dizzily, this ankle thing wouldn't be so bad after all.

* * *

He was wrong about that. Any novelty from having an broken foot quickly wore off, for Chris at least.

It was, for a start, impossible to carry anything anywhere because he couldn't put any weight on one leg and needed crutches in both hands. He couldn't carry a glass of water across the room to where his bottle of pills were waiting. He couldn't carry his bottle of pills over to the sink to pour a glass of water. Even the smallest actions took twice as long to do as they normally would. No, three times as long.

And a lot of stuff he couldn't seem to do at all. He couldn't drive, couldn't ride the bike, was suddenly reliant on Edward to ferry him anywhere he wanted to go. Not that he felt up to going out, because even the smallest amount of shuffling around on crutches left him quickly exhausted. When he got tired, his foot swelled up and that was almost unbearable.

Work and all normal routines were abandoned immediately. Soon, time only had meaning insofar as Chris found himself counting the hours and then the minutes before he could take more Percocet. The numbing happy rush obliterated the pain very pleasurably, if temporarily.

Edward slipped effortlessly into the role of caregiver, fetching, carrying, nagging Chris not to move his foot too much, warning him to watch the Percocet intake. Unlike Chris, however, Edward had an employer and regular working hours to worry about. Chris expressed concern about this early in the first week.

"I've got a couple of projects I can work from home at the moment," Edward reassured him. "I might have to go out to a few site meetings, but I should be able to do most other stuff from here. I'll call Shirley, see what meetings and stuff I've got on."

Shirley was the elderly office administrator at Edward's firm of architects; Chris had spoken to her on the phone once or twice. She invariably sounded exasperated and Chris gathered Edward's penchant for absent-mindedness was the bane of her life.

Edward vanished into his study, leaving doors open so Chris could hear. Edward clattered around for a minute, then picked up the phone. Chris lay glumly on the couch and listened to Edward's end of the conversation.

"Hi Shirley, it's Edward. Listen, I'm gonna have to work from home as much as I can for the next few days, Chris had an accident, he broke his ankle... No no, he's gonna be fine, but he can't walk or anything, and kinda needs help at the moment. Can you go through my calendar for this week and tell me what's on, please?"

There was a pause for a moment then Edward's voice resumed. "Yeah. Yeah. That's fine. I can skip that. Can you reschedule the Wednesday meeting? But I will go to the site visit on Thursday, hang on, let me write it down."

A clunk, then scrabbling sounds; Edward rooting around on his desk for a pen, Chris guessed. "All right. That's fine. Can you tell... yes. Thank you. What about next week? Oh! The convention. The convention is next week?..."

Damnit. Chris knew what they were talking about; Edward was booked to go to the American Institute of Architects Convention in San Francisco. It was a major five-day event and had been booked some time ago. Edward's company would have paid a substantial registration fee. Also, Chris knew Edward was looking forward to it.

"I don't know," Edward said to Shirley. "I'll have to let you know. I'll call later this week, all right? Thanks. Bye."

There was a click of the receiver, then Edward walked back into the living room, a trifle sheepish. "I've rearranged this week, but there's a problem next week. It's the convention--"

"You go," Chris said brusquely. "I'll be fine."

Edward eyed Chris unhappily. "I don't know, Chris. It's a full week away, with the flights. You're not going to be any better next week--"

"You go. I can get Linus to look in on me."

Edward looked distinctly unconvinced. "He's hardly the nursemaid type."

"I don't need a nurse! I'm not sick, I've broken my ankle, that's all!" Chris bellowed. "You go, all right?"

* * *

Unexpectedly when Chris spoke to Linus on the phone, Linus came up with another solution. "Ryan can stay with you while Edward's away."

"Er, really?" Chris was surprised.

"Of course!" Linus spoke without hesitation. "He'd love to keep you company. I'm terribly busy myself next week, Chris, he'd only be at home alone most of the time." Linus dropped his voice and added, "Maybe you can convince him to take his meds."

"What?"

"He's got every anti-retroviral possible, and he doesn't take them half the time he should." Linus sounded both exasperated and despairing. "I know the pill regimen is complicated, but he really is the limit. I don't know if it's the arrogance of youth, his Catholic sense of guilt telling him he deserves it, or if he really doesn't care."

"Right. Um, I'll try." What a fun conversation that would be. "Look, you ask Ryan if he minds babysitting me, and I'll check with Edward."

Chris duly put Linus's suggestion to Edward, who was cautiously welcoming. "I guess that would be okay."

"Don't worry, I won't forget to use condoms." Chris put some sharpness in his voice. "The Percocet doesn't make me that woozy."

Edward looked hurt. "I didn't mean that."

Chris knew he hadn't, but the pain and immobility was making him short-tempered, even with his angel Edward. He tried to be gruffly apologetic. "I know. Sorry. Look, you go to the convention and have a good time, all right?"

"Okay, I'll go." Edward surrendered. "I can always come back early if you need me."

"I'll be fine," Chris snapped.

* * *

And so Edward flew to San Francisco for a week, and Ryan moved in. Living with Ryan, even just for a week, was a whole new experience for Chris, who had never lived with anyone other than Edward. Ryan was an assiduous house guest, careful not to overstep boundaries, yet somehow there whenever Chris needed anything. Pills, water, caffeine, cigarettes, food, all on hand when Chris wanted them.

Chris spoke to Edward on the phone every day, assured him that things were fine, and although Edward couldn't entirely lose the worried note in his voice, he was apparently reassured enough to stay for the duration of the convention.

Each day Chris settled himself on the living room couch and saved his energy for the only moving around that he actually had to do; getting to the bathroom and back. When he got fed up of reading and watching TV, he played cards and board games with Ryan, who entertained him with tales of his travels around the world. Chris's sex drive had largely evaporated with the ankle pain, so they mainly flirted without following through, but they did manage mutual handjobs once in the course of the week.

Their most intimate moment, however, wasn't a sexual one at all. They were comparing countries they'd visited one afternoon; Chris wasn't as well traveled as Ryan but knew Europe fairly well, and Ryan had done a long tour across Europe by train over several months. Chris keenly listed the countries he'd been to. "Italy, Spain, Portugal, England, Scotland..."

Ryan nodded at each one except the last. "No, never been to Scotland."

"You should, the Highlands and Islands are beautiful." Chris was enthusiastic. He explained his penchant for Scotch single malts, the more obscure and unusual the better. "I take a trip there every few years. I'll be taking Edward there with me next year. I always try and go to London on the way back, hang out there for a few days."

"Ah, London," Ryan said, and laughed a little.

"Did you like London?" Chris had very fond memories of London, mainly due to a very sweet brief affair he'd had on his first visit there aged twenty-one. He'd hooked up with a much older guy with blond dreadlocks in a bar, and they'd spent a weekend having some very hot sex in a tiny studio flat overlooking a lively square in Soho.

"I liked it very much," Ryan said, his voice becoming suddenly more lilting. "Right up to the moment the condom burst in my ass with this guy in Old Compton Street."

Oh. This was a transmission story. Chris sat very still. After a pause, Ryan went on.

"He told me straight off. Would've been nice to know in advance, but I guess I should be grateful he told me at all. Said, _I'm HIV positive, you better get tested right away_... I acted cool, like it was no big deal." Ryan stared at the ceiling. "I acted cool right up until I got the results, when I stayed in bed for a day and cried. Then I picked myself up, dusted myself down, quit my job, bought an InterRail pass, and went off to see the world."

"Fuck." Chris had no words. He reached out an arm, gesturing _come here,_ trying to offer some small measure of comfort.

They kissed, and Ryan snuggled next to Chris on the couch. Chris shifted his ankle sideways carefully to make room.

"Linus is worried you don't take your meds properly," Chris felt bound to say.

"I don't like them. They give me headaches and make me feel sick." Ryan turned his face towards Chris's chest. "And I feel fine. I feel much better off them than on them."

"You should take them. It's only a matter of time before it catches up with you," Chris said, as gently as he possibly could.

"Yeah." Ryan sighed. "I know that, but sometimes I can't quite believe it."

"Did you ever see the guy again?" Chris asked, after a while. "The one in Old Compton Street?"

"Nah. I never even asked his name."

Chris was filled with sorrow for the fate of this beautiful young man beside him. He reached out and pulled Ryan as close to him as he could. They lay silently together for a long time.

* * *

After Edward returned from San Francisco, Ryan moved out but continued to visit Chris every day during the daytime. Edward was thus able to go back to work, and Chris sensed Edward was both vaguely dissatisfied and immensely relieved by this solution.

Edward did take time off work one day for them both to go see Linus's lawyer about formalizing their relationship in legal terms, as far as they were able.

"Can you do real estate law?" Chris asked, in the lawyer's office, as they tried to work through all the issues. "I want to put our house in both our names." He'd been thinking that he should do that for a while.

"Chris!" Edward protested, blushing a little. "That's not necessary. It's your house, you paid for it all."

"You built it," Chris said firmly. "It's half yours." It bothered him that Edward was living with him without having any financial or legal stake in the place.

"Shared title is a real good sign of commitment," the lawyer said. "My firm can do that. And if you're gonna have joint property, you need wills, and properly drafted wills, not some half-assed piece of crap off-the-shelf document. Especially not with you being married." He nodded at Edward. "You know something? If you don't have any kind of separation document and were the joint owner of your house, and and heaven forbid something happened to you, your wife would inherit your half of the house. She could legitimately move in and live there with Chris."

Chris could not imagine any situation more appalling than Claudia moving in with him. From the look on Edward's face, neither could he.

"Yeah, we're definitely going to sort this one out," said Chris.

Later, after they left the law firm and had gotten into their car to go home, Edward settled into the driver's seat, slid his right hand on top of Chris's left hand and said, "You never told me you wanted to put the house in both our names. It's... it's a big commitment."

"Well, it's not like we can get married, can we?" Chris said gruffly, shifting his foot sideways slightly with an effort. They'd been away from home for hours now, and his ankle was killing him.

"No," Edward said with a rather hollow laugh. "I just feel bad, that I can't do anything like that for you in return."

"Don't feel bad," Chris said firmly. "Just get me home, and give me pills, and I swear I'll owe you my life."

This time Edward's laugh was genuine. "You got it." He squeezed Chris's hand, then let go to start the engine.

* * *

A couple of weeks later, his foot now in a new heavy plaster cast, Chris went to visit the club. It was the first time he'd been there since he'd broken his ankle and he immediately found he couldn't possibly tackle the stairs to the private bar and his office on crutches, not even with Edward on hand to help.

"I could carry you," Bob the manager offered, a trifle mischievously. Bob was large enough and solid enough to give anyone a fireman's lift.

"No thanks," Chris said firmly, suddenly soberly aware of how limiting the world was for disabled people. "Bob, look into getting an elevator installed at some point, will you?"

Chris settled himself in the downstairs bar instead, and good-naturedly bore ritual graffiti on his cast. He got comfortable with his foot propped up on a chair, Magic Marker on hand, and people flocked to him.

"Honestly, Chris, how careless of you," Linus said, carefully inscribing _Never had you down as a gimp before_, _L_.

"It must be awfully heavy to walk with," Ryan said, tapping the cast and listening to the sound it made, before drawing a small heart shape with _Ryan _in the middle.

"It is a bit heavy," Chris said, with the air of one suffering but trying not to make a fuss.

It was, in fact, hellish. That day he'd over-exerted himself in the morning, and his foot had swelled up like a balloon in protest. It had taken an extra Percocet and a long afternoon nap to revive him enough to go out in the evening. It also itched like crazy under the cast and Chris could tell the lack of hygiene was quickly going to drive him mad.

He was glad he'd made the effort to go out, though. It was good to see the club again, and a most refreshing change to talk to people other than Edward and Ryan.

Later, Chris found Edward had written _Beware abasiophiles!_ on his cast. Chris had to go look that one up. It made him laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abasiophilia>


	8. Edward's Experiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris has a mid-life crisis. Then Edward has one too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning:** Infidelity, anonymous sex, promiscuity, semi-public sex, leather kink, a touch of light bondage. I bet you can't wait :)

With time, Chris's ankle behaved itself and healed up well. The cast was switched for a plastic walking boot, and although it was clunky, Chris was overjoyed at being able to take it off to sleep and shower. Aware of how weak and feeble his muscles had become, he started a regular routine of leg lifts while lying down, and then went to see Donovan to plan a personal training program. He found himself prescribed a special diet and sports massage sessions, too.

Chris liked exercise but the new regimen was a bitch. As well as endless exercises with his weak leg, Donovan had him swimming and running in water, which was hard work. A few weeks later, the screws were taken out, and a few weeks after that, the stitches went too, leaving him with a rather splendid scar that the doctors assured him would eventually fade.

At the end of one disappointing gym session, Chris lost his patience with leg exercises and went to take out some frustration on the punching bag.

"You're cranky today," Donovan observed. "Old age getting you down?"

Chris threw him a glare. Chris had recently turned thirty and made the mistake beforehand of admitting that he wasn't looking forward to it. Donovan had been teasing him about it ever since. Donovan, who had passed forty some time ago and was lean and fit as a fiddle, thought it was funny.

But the truth was, Chris really was glum about it. He didn't want to be thirty. Didn't _feel _thirty. He wanted to be twenty-something, not thirty-something. The whole ankle problem seemed to exemplify the aging process, his body starting to break down; clearly it was all downhill from here on.

"Ryan left last week," Chris said, in an effort not to talk about getting old. "Flew off to the west coast, to LA. Wanted to see Hollywood."

"Oh. Shame," Donovan said. "Vacation? Or is he continuing his travels around the world?"

"He's traveling again. He's not planning on coming back." Chris was sad. He had gotten really quite fond of Ryan, missed his lilting brogue and soft brown hair.

Chris picked up a towel and wandered to the changing rooms, mopping sweat from his brow and neck, and mulling over the loss of beautiful youth in more ways than one.

Talking of youth... a young man was just coming out of the showers, a towel around his shoulders. Chris didn't recognize him; he was small and had dark brown hair that stuck out, a bit like Ryan's had done. Chris headed for the showers and glanced surreptitiously at the guy in the towel. He didn't look anything like Ryan, similar age perhaps, same color hair, but different face, fuller, redder.

Chris hadn't been quite surreptitious enough in his glance; the guy caught his eye, held it for a few seconds, and then let the towel fall partially away from his crotch.

Oh. _Oh_. This was a come-on.

Chris broke eye contact swiftly and went into the shower. He turned the spray on full and hot, and stepped underneath. It had been a while since he'd been propositioned in the gym, he mused. Its location gave it a naturally large gay clientele, and therefore had its trolls. But it was in fact a very mainstream establishment.

When he came out of the shower, the young man was gone. Relieved, Chris got dressed and headed outside to where the Harley was parked.

Except his feet--no, his dick--took him in a slightly different direction, down the side of the parking lot to a shaded area near the garbage cans. And there was the young man, in jeans and T-shirt, waiting for him.

They didn't exchange a word. The other man unbuckled his jeans and turned around, and Chris unzipped his fly, rolled on a condom and took him right there and then, leaning over a garbage can. A few minutes of breathy thrusting and gasping later, Chris came with a grunt and after a moment's recovery, gave the other man a reach-around.

It was both absolutely soulless and incredibly hot.

* * *

Chris came to his senses a few minutes later, as he sat carefully on his Harley and picked up his helmet. It was as if a red mist had descended and temporarily blotted out all rhyme and reason, and now it had lifted, Chris was suddenly horrified with himself. He'd completely forgotten about Edward, been led by his dick, acted just like he had in the olden days... he'd _cheated _on the man he loved--

And Chris had no doubt at all that he'd just cheated. He and Edward had two rules about having sex with other men; always wear a condom, and never do it without the knowledge and consent of the other. Chris had just broken the latter.

He didn't know quite what to do, so he went and sat in a bar in a daze for a while.

He got home a couple of hours later to find Edward back from work, walking through from his study to greet Chris, whistling and bright. Chris hadn't known how to act until the moment arrived, when he realized that Edward was about to kiss him and he knew with certainty that he could not, would not, lie. Not about this, anyway.

"Edward," he said, and stopped, suddenly doubly appalled at himself.

"Chris, hey." Edward stopped dead at the sight of Chris's face. "What's up? Is something wrong?"

_I'm a stupid horny idiot, that's what's wrong._ "Edward, I fucked a guy at the gym."

"Oh!" Edward frowned, and kept on frowning. "Who?"

"I don't know his name," Chris was forced to admit.

"At the _gym_? How the hell? Does that kind of thing go on there?" Edward didn't go to the gym, he claimed to find gyms boring, but he'd visited it and he knew Donovan as a friend.

"Not inside, round the back, by the dumpsters." Chris mumbled.

A shutter slid down across Edward's face, as if he was cutting off emotions from view. "I see. Well, I'm glad you told me."

"I'm sorry," Chris began helplessly. "I don't know what came over me--"

"I'm going for a walk on the beach, get some air," Edward interrupted, and headed out of the kitchen door.

* * *

The next day, a Saturday, Linus dropped in unannounced mid-afternoon. He sat down at the kitchen table next to Chris and let out a huge exaggerated sigh.

"I am at loose ends on my own, wondering how Ryan is getting on in the big bad world out there."

Chris knew Linus's bereft state wouldn't last long, another stray cat would wander along soon. "Is he staying in touch?"

"He said he would, but he hasn't, and I can't say I'm surprised," Linus said sadly. "I kept him around as long as I could. And I filled his pockets with antiretrovirals when he left, although goodness only knows if he'll keep taking them or not. Anyway, I thought you and Edward could keep me company today." He looked around. "Where is the beautiful boy?"

"He's gone to visit his parents in Florida," Chris said reluctantly. "He left this morning."

"Really?" Linus frowned. "Any particular reason?"

"They want him to design them a conservatory, he's been talking about it for a while." Edward's parents lived in an old traditional mansion in Palm Beach. His mom had called a while back to ask for advice on attaching a greenhouse.

"I know that, but... why now?"

Chris didn't want to talk about it, but he had few secrets from Linus and didn't want to lie. "We had a fight. I... screwed up. Screwed around."

Linus shook his head. "For fuck's sake, Chris! Like he doesn't let you screw around enough as it is?"

"I was stupid."

Linus sighed. "You've driven him away, Chris? Again?"

"He said he wanted a bit of time on his own," Chris mumbled. "Taking stock... we've been together nearly three years, you know."

"You need to be careful," Linus opined. "One of these days he might not come back."

* * *

Edward called that evening, and Chris's heart sank as soon as he heard Edward's tone; diffident, a little apologetic.

"I'm going to stay here for a bit. I went to my company's Miami office to discuss the conservatory with an architect there, and they've got a spare desk and some other work I could do for them, so I thought I'd hang on for a while and see the conservatory job through. Check out the contractor, materials, get the construction going."

"How long?" Chris could hardly get the words out.

Silence. "I don't know. A couple of weeks, maybe. I need a bit of a break, Chris."

Chris opened his mouth and shut it again to stop a vain, anguished cry of _No you fucking well don't! _Instead he took a deep breath, swallowed the anger and tried to convey what he felt calmly instead. "I need you here."

"No, you don't," Edward said immediately. "You can go pick up a guy at the gym."

"Don't punish me like this, Edward, I can't bear it." Chris felt his throat constrict, choke up.

Edward's sigh down the line was long and breathy. "How would you have felt, Chris, if I'd come home and told you what you told me?"

"I'd... I'd be fucking angry."

"Yeah. Well, I'm trying real hard to work through this, so give me some space, Chris." Dial tone.

* * *

A couple of weeks stretched into a month. Chris spoke to Edward on the phone every few days, and heard bland news about how the conservatory was progressing, how he'd found a little hotel apartment not far from work, how it was nice spending a bit of time with Mom and Dad in Palm Beach, and how Eleanor had visited the previous weekend. Each time Chris asked hopefully if Edward would be coming back soon, but Edward wouldn't commit.

A month in, Chris bit the bullet and flew down to Florida himself. He avoided Palm Beach and instead looked up the Miami office location of Edward's firm of architects. Not wanting to be forbidden from coming, he only called to tell Edward once he got there.

"I'm in the cafe down the road from your office," Chris said, not caring how stalkerish he sounded. "Are you free for lunch?"

"Honestly, you could have called before coming all this way." Edward sounded cross, but agreed to see him.

They had lunch, and it was just so wonderful to sit across a table from Edward that Chris fell in love all over again. Edward looked just the same, a little more tanned perhaps, glasses still halfway down his nose, hair still flopping over his forehead. Chris stared behind the specs into the depths of those dark brown eyes he knew so well, and found them troubled and sober.

Edward twirled a fork around spaghetti and tilted his chin before asking, "Are you seeing anyone else?"

"Me? Nobody since you left. I swear it." Chris hesitated, then dared to jest. "Not even though Linus has a new stray cat, and I bet you can't guess what he's like."

Edward smiled a little. "Let me try. Young, beautiful, dark haired, slightly exotic...."

"You got it. His name's Nico. You'd like him." Chris liked Nico, but was studiously keeping his distance; he was determined not to lay a finger on anyone until Edward came back. Because Edward surely _had _to come back.

Edward ate a mouthful of spaghetti, then said off-handedly, "Claudia came down to visit last weekend with Eleanor. I think Ellie and Mom and Dad thought I might fall into her arms all over again."

Edward's tone was light, but Chris stiffened anyway. "You didn't."

"No, I didn't." Edward was firm. "I'm not going to make that mistake again; I know that's not for me. I've been, um... checking out the scene down here instead. South Beach is just down the road. I've been having some fun. Experimenting a bit."

"Experimenting?"

"When I was at the convention in San Francisco I wandered around the Castro a bit." Edward looked Chris in the eye. "I didn't hook up with anyone. You were at home with your broken ankle... But it was a cool place to be, and I realized I'd never been anywhere like that on my own. At college I was too busy being screwed and screwed up by Preston and his friends. And since then, in Jersey, I've always been with you. I never really experienced being out and single anywhere. Until now..."

Chris felt a sinking feeling in his stomach at the thought of Edward in bars and clubs, being eyed up by other men, being hit on by other men, being pawed at by other men. Who was he kidding; Edward being _fucked _by other men. Chris had seen it many times, but always with himself there or nearby, assenting, admiring, appreciating. Now, he had no idea what Edward was up to, what these men were like.

But what to say? Why the hell shouldn't Edward have his own anonymous sexual adventures? Chris could hardly criticize. He tried to express how he felt. "Edward... if you won't come home, let me stay here, hang out with you...."

"No. Go home." Edward's voice was gentle. "I'm just seeing how things go, trying to figure out how I feel. I need some time on my own. Don't make it harder for me than it already is, okay?"

Chris stretched a hand across the table, yearning for some physical contact, even the lightest brush of fingers. Edward placed his own hand on top of Chris's just for a few seconds, and Chris felt a brief thrill run right up his arm. Edward's body jolted slightly, and Chris knew he'd felt it too.

"Go home," Edward said, but he didn't sound quite as sure as he had before.

* * *

Chris had no intention of going home. He checked into a hotel, and called an old friend of his who ran some bars and clubs in South Beach. Julio was pleased to hear from him, and told Chris to drop by and see him that evening.

Chris found Julio at one of his bars, smiling and welcoming, relaxed in a wicker chair outside on the street in the warm night air, wrapped in a pleasant haze of smoke. Chris sat down at his table, a beer appeared magically at his elbow, and they talked amicably about business for a few minutes.

Chris was about to mention Edward, but Julio beat him to it.

"So I guess you're in town following your beautiful Edward," he said, blowing a skillful smoke ring which Chris admired.

"That's right. You've seen him around?"

"Chris, he's difficult to miss, he's been quite the party bottom boy." Julio gazed at Chris through half-lidded eyes that were sharper than his languid pose might suggest. "I have to say, I assumed you'd broken up."

Chris pondered that for a minute. "No, we're just kinda... on a break."

"Ha." Julio blew another smoke ring, not quite as perfect this time. "Well, he's making the most of his break."

Chris sighed inwardly. "Where can I find him?"

"Try my club. It's only about five minutes down the road from here." Julio gave brief directions, then reached for his wallet. "Here, take my card. There'll be lines outside at this time, give this to the doorman." He scribbled briefly on the back of a business card, and handed it to Chris. "Have fun, my friend."

* * *

Chris enjoyed being able to sweep past the line and into a club that wasn't his own. Once inside, he found himself looking down into a large room crowded with dancing men. The club had a slightly different feel to Chris's back home. More flesh on show, more outlandish clothes with straps and zips and buckles, more obvious kink. Lots of leather and PVC. Chris, clad in ordinary black jeans and T-shirt, was possibly the most conventionally dressed person there.

Chris strolled along the mezzanine level, surveying the crowds and ignoring the occasional flirtatious look, until he spotted Edward. Chris felt his jaw drop; he hadn't expected Edward to be blending into the crowd here so perfectly. Edward had been shopping; he was wearing a black shirt made of a fine mesh that Chris had never seen before, and black leather shorts. _Shorts_. Fucking hell. Snug shorts, too. Chris felt himself rocket to full erection almost immediately.

Chris headed down a flight of steps, walked purposefully up to Edward and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey, pretty boy," Chris said, putting smoke and smolder into his voice.

Edward whirled around with a look of surprise, then seeing the horny grade A look on Chris's face, hesitated, then said, "Hey."

"What's a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?" Chris asked, reaching out, plucking the sleeve of the mesh T-shirt. He could see Edward's nipples clearly underneath.

"Just having fun." Edward's breathing seemed to be rather short. Chris hooked a finger into the neck of the T-shirt. "Not seen you here before."

"Just passing through." Chris skimmed a fingernail along Edward's collarbone, over his throat. Edward swallowed under his touch. "Nice outfit."

"Thanks."

Chris dipped his head and hissed into Edward's ear, "I want to fuck you, right here, right now, and don't try and give me any fucking excuses while you're dressed like that--"

Edward grabbed Chris's hand and led him off the dance floor.

* * *

They burst into the men's room, and Chris ignored a man at the urinals and another washing his hands who looked at them with surprise. If he got into trouble for this Julio would get him out of it, and anyway it would be _so fucking worth it._ He hauled Edward into one of the cubicles, slammed the bolt behind them and pushed Edward up against the door.

"Uh." Edward gasped as Chris undid Edward's shorts at the speed of light and slid both hands inside. No underwear, not a surprise given how tightly these shorts fitted, but _God _what a turn-on to find. He cupped Edward's hips, then his buttocks, all the while smothering Edward's face in swift, hungry kisses. He reached further round to probe and stretch Edward's ass, finding it ready and pliable. Chris wondered how much action it had seen these last few weeks.

Edward started to make a high-pitched whining sound that must have been audible to the men outside. Chris didn't give a damn; he dropped to his knees there on the lavatory floor, yanked Edward's shorts down to the ground, and took Edward in his mouth.

"God! _Fuck_!" Edward gasped. He reached down and clutched at Chris's hair, stabbing blindly at Chris's scalp with urgent fingertips. "Keep going--Yes--"

He came quick and sharp and fast, and Chris shut his eyes and swallowed, because _damnit_ he trusted Edward, trusted that whatever the hell he'd been up to in the last month he'd stayed clean, and they could exchange bodily fluids still. He sure hoped so, because he fully intended to come up Edward's ass.

Spent and heaving for breath, Edward pulled himself backward. Chris stood up and unzipped his own fly. "Turn around, pretty boy."

"If you say so," Edward breathed, and turned around. His bare ass was pale and white in the stark toilet light. He leaned his palms against the door, and Chris leaned forward to cover Edward's right hand with his own, feeling warm skin and hard nails scraping against the harsh metal door. He readied his cock with his other hand and pushed abruptly up into Edward's ass.

"Hurgh," Edward muttered, but he took Chris in very easily. Chris, by contrast, started to sweat and almost panic once inside Edward; _GodOhGod_ how he'd missed this, Edward hot and squirming underneath his touch. He was overjoyed Edward was letting him bareback, thrilled that they each trusted each other enough still to do this unsheathed.

And the turn-on from the semi-public venue--the cool nightclub air, the faint tang of disinfectant, the faint murmurs of voices on the other side of the door--it had been a long time since Chris had had sex like this and he'd forgotten the thrill of the invisible spectators outside. It wasn't long before he came, deep inside Edward, with a stifled but audible shuddering cry. Someone outside let out a whoop.

Chris pulled out carefully, and stood panting for a minute, still leaning against Edward's back, resting his face against the mesh.

"Can I see you again?" Chris breathed eventually, still playing the roles they'd assumed.

"Woo me," Edward muttered, and Chris thought he'd misheard.

"What?" He moved backwards, taking his weight away from Edward, leaning against the cubicle wall instead.

"Woo me," Edward said, more clearly. He reached down to pull up his shorts, then straightened up and pushed his glasses firmly up his nose. "Take me to dinner tomorrow night."

And Edward threw back the bolt on the door, and walked away.

* * *

Chris called Julio the next morning to find out the name of the best restaurant in town, then called it to make a dinner reservation. After a little thought, he arranged for a bouquet of roses to be delivered to Edward's hotel apartment, along with a note giving the place and time for dinner. Chris then went out shopping to buy a tie, as the restaurant had a dress code of jacket and tie, and he hadn't thought to bring a tie out to Florida with him.

He arrived that evening to find Edward already seated with an opened bottle of wine. The table was beautifully laid out with a single red rose in a tall narrow vase in the middle. Edward was demure in a work suit and dark blue silk tie, his hair was neatly combed and he was the epitome of respectability.

"Hey," Chris dropped into the seat opposite, as a waiter poured him a glass of wine. "You look good." He dropped his voice. "Though in a different way from last night."

"You too." Edward smiled back.

They ordered steak, and remarked on the warm winter weather and the state of the roads. After a few minutes, Edward leaned back in his chair and said, very casually, "It's a bit hot in here."

He took off his tie, rolling it up neatly and putting it in a pocket. He then reached up and pulled his shirt collar loose, tugging undone the top two buttons--

\--and revealing another collar underneath. A black leather collar with small metal studs running around his neck, and one large metal ring dangling from the front. Suddenly Chris forgot about the food and the drink and people around. Edward was wearing a collar and he had never seen anything so hot in his life.

Edward could see the effect he was having, but all he said was a far-too-casual, "So, how's the ankle holding up?"

"Uh." Chris couldn't think about his ankle. Couldn't think of anything except leaping at Edward as if his life depended on it and pinning him up against the wall. But the restaurant was bustling around them, Edward was smiling very gently, and Chris understood he had to endure this, he had to put up with sitting and making polite conversation with the walking wet dream opposite... he had to woo him.

"It's almost back to normal," Chris managed to say. "Not quite, but I'm not sure it ever will be."

"Donovan still pushing you?" Edward's tone was light, unfazed, as if he wore a leather collar every day under his regular clothes.

"Just a bit."

The waiter arrived with their steaks. As he put the plates down on the table Edward turned his head and said, "Thank you." The waiter's eyes went wide, and he cast a sideways glance at Chris. Chris realized that Edward had deliberately held his head at such an angle that the waiter had glimpsed the collar.

Fucking hell, this was piling hotness upon hotness. Chris really wasn't sure if he could sit through a whole meal like this.

Somehow he did. He jammed a knee up against Edward's knee under the table, and managed the occasional stroke of a hand, feel of a thigh. They had ice-cream for dessert, and Chris watched Edward swallow every spoonful, his throat constricting under the leather collar, light catching the few visible studs.

"Coffee?" Chris suggested as they finished.

"Why not come back to my place for coffee," Edward said, and Chris felt his heart bounce for joy. He paid the check without so much as glancing at the total, and hustled Edward out, into a cab, and back to Edward's hotel apartment.

Alone, Chris wasted no time even pretending this was about coffee and dived straight at Edward, pushing him onto the bed, pulling off his glasses, ripping his shirt off, exposing the collar in all its glory.

"Uh," Edward muttered as the back of his head hit the headboard.

"Fucking hell!" Chris stared behind Edward's head. The headboard was made of metal rods, and there were two pairs of soft leather _handcuffs _attached to it, one to the left, one to the right. Edward sure had been busy this last month.

The spare cuff of each pair dangled down enticingly. Chris grabbed Edward's left wrist and wrested it towards a cuff.

"Just for fun, right?" Edward said, breathless, as Chris closed the cuff and reached for the other wrist.

"Right." They'd discussed the dom/sub lifestyle in the past and agreed it had never appealed to either of them--they switched all the time, and got their kicks in plenty of other ways, after all. But that didn't mean they couldn't play at it....

"Safe word," Edward said, a trifle unexpectedly. "_Conservatory_."

Chris laughed at that, echoed, "Conservatory," with a nod, and started to layer kisses on Edward's lips, cheek, neck. Chris brought his nose up to the collar, breathing in warmth and leather, feeling cold metal studs pressing against his face. He took the ring between his teeth and tugged gently, ultra aware of Edward's throat behind, pale and twitching slightly.

He could feel Edward's heart beating faster under his hand; he moved to curl his hand around Edward's head instead, pulling him close, planting small crushing kisses along his neck, along the collar. Then he reached out, running his hands along Edward's arms, to Edward's wrists, encircled by the cuffs.

Edward shifted a little, making the cuffs jingle against the headboard. He could move around, but not far, and he couldn't change position; he was stuck on his back. Chris loomed above him. Chris unbuckled Edward's belt, causing another jingling sound, and sucked in his breath at the discovery that Edward had been going commando in that restaurant.

Chris removed his own clothes, watched by a now naked and vulnerable looking Edward, squinting a little without his glasses. Although the control was a turn-on, Chris had no wish to actually hurt Edward (wanting as ever to be different from Preston the bastard college ex-boyfriend), so he reached across to the nightstand, pulling open a drawer, assuming that Edward would have lube somewhere close to hand in this splendidly well stocked bedroom.

Which he did, and sitting there in the drawer along with lube and condoms was a blindfold. Plain black cotton. Innocuous if handed out on an airplane; there in that drawer, quite the kinkiest thing Chris had ever seen. He grabbed it and hooked the elastic around Edward's head; Edward gulped a little, but didn't object.

And then Edward was sprawled on the bed naked, tied up by his wrists and blindfolded, and Chris thought he'd better get on with this in case he woke up or something.

"Spread your legs," he muttered in Edward's ear, and Edward did what he said. Edward's semi-erect cock bobbed against his stomach but Chris carefully avoided touching it. Instead he lubed up a finger and moved to stretch Edward's asshole. Edward squeaked a little in surprise (unable to see, of course), then moaned low in the back of his throat. Chris kept probing, stretching, and with the third finger he got Edward's prostate; he knew because Edward's cuffs suddenly jangled wildly as he gasped and wriggled and squirmed.

"Fuck it, Chris--touch me, please--"

"Not yet," Chris murmured, delighted by the reaction. Edward's cock was long and rock hard, now, but Chris still didn't move towards it, nor of course could Edward touch himself.

Chris readied his own cock, not bothering with a condom, they'd done it without just last night after all and whatever Edward had got up to in this sex sanctuary of a hotel room, Chris still trusted Edward had stuck to their bargain. This was all about trust, after all. He pushed Edward's knees back as far as he could, and eased inside.

"Argh," Edward moaned, and Chris could see beads of sweat running down Edward's forehead, making the blindfold damp; it wasn't that hot in the room, but Edward was red and shaking beneath the collar, his wrist twisting in the cuffs. Chris held back a fraction, giving Edward the chance to say the word to stop him, but no word came, so Chris pushed back in and started to thrust.

Oh God this was good. Edward's beautiful ass primed and ready and taking him every inch of the way; Edward's body strained and taut and gasping, the cuff chains rattling against the headboard, Edward wrenching his head from side to side with each thrust, eyes blotted out, mouth open, cock still stiff and batting between their stomachs. Chris's own sight and hearing vanished temporarily, as he came harder than he had done in a long time. He lay there on top on Edward, panting and helpless.

"Chris," Edward whispered. He bucked his groin and jingled a cuff, and Chris was duly reminded that Edward couldn't use his hands. Chris reached out with a lazy paw, wrapped his fist around Edward's cock, and brought him off with a few rapid jerks. Edward moaned and squirmed, and eventually lay limp.

Chris reached up after a few minutes and pushed the blindfold up off Edward's face. Clear brown eyes blinked and gazed up at him; loving, trusting eyes.

A couple of days later, they flew back to New Jersey. They brought the cuffs back with them, and Chris stole another blindfold from the airplane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edward's attire ~~slavishly copied from~~ inspired by Wilson's in [](http://deelaundry.livejournal.com/profile)[**deelaundry**](http://deelaundry.livejournal.com/)'s [Don't Stand](http://deelaundry.livejournal.com/153398.html).


	9. Blast from the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris and Edward have a party. There's a crisis when Edward's ex walks into the club one night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning:** Threesome with (deep breath) double penetration. Plus violence, sexual violence, drug taking.

"I'm just so delighted you're doing this," Linus enthused, and signed his name on the dotted line with a flourish.

Chris and Edward watched, both smiling. It had taken a while, but the legal paperwork had finally come through, and they now had joint title to their house. They had needed witnesses to attest to their own signatures on various different documents. Linus was one witness, and at his suggestion ("Because it never hurts to have the law on your side,") his friend Ziggy, Detective-Lieutenant Bowie, was another.

Everything, Chris mused, had gone really rather swimmingly since Edward's return from Florida. Edward seemed to have got whatever he needed to get out of his system, their sex life was better than ever, and they were continuing to live with each other harmoniously. It had been more than four years now since they'd first met, and Chris was confident that both of them could be happy together for a long time.

"It's a big step you're taking," Ziggy drawled, signing his own name. "Real commitment. You gonna have a party, celebrate?"

Chris and Edward looked at each other. "We hadn't thought about it," Chris admitted.

"Of course you must celebrate," Linus said firmly. "You will throw a party, Ziggy will make sure nobody gets arrested at it, and I will bring a bottle of my precious '63 port. And--ah, if you wait 'til next month, I can bring Ravi. He's taking a long vacation and coming to stay with me for a while."

"Ravi?" Edward asked.

"Haven't you met Ravi? Oh my dear Edward, what a treat in store for you!" Linus gushed. "He's the most beautiful young man, and there is no better lay. He does it for a living, you see."

Chris and Ziggy both snorted with laughter. Edward looked adorably confused. "He's... a rentboy?"

"He has been known to act as an escort, a very exclusive one of course," Linus said solemnly. "I think that is how I first met him, actually." Ziggy rolled his eyes and pretended to cover his ears.

"But he's better known for his films," Chris explained.

"He's... a porn star!" Edward realized in surprise.

"His nickname on set is Ravioli," Linus said, with a wink. "Because he's usually full of delicious meat."

* * *

The day of the party, Chris fired up the barbecue late afternoon, and people arrived and sat around the pool and on the beach, chatting and eating ribs and chicken. As afternoon slowed into evening, some people left and others arrived. Some of the poker players from the club started a game in the front room. Edward milled happily around, nibbling on corn on the cob, blackened in the embers of the barbecue. Chris was never far away.

All the staff and regulars at Chris's various establishments showed at various points. Brandon from the bar on the main road put in an appearance early, before going off to work the evening shift.

"Congratulations, boss," he said, and gave Chris a long kiss on the lips as he departed. Chris kissed back a little more than he should, somebody nearby wolf-whistled, and Chris found himself grinning to himself for some time afterwards.

Bob also arrived before the evening rush at the club; he stayed for one beer, then left, pushing a box into Chris's hands at the last minute. Chris opened it to find a set of immaculate Cuban cigars. Meanwhile Giuseppe, the interior designer, had a long conversation with Edward about the decor in the living room. It hadn't been redone since the place was built, and was now according to Giuseppe, terribly in need of an update.

"I know you'll understand, Edward. Even though Chris thinks rooms should only be redecorated when the paint actually starts to peel off...."

"He's a philistine," Edward agreed innocently, and Chris pretended not to hear them hatching elaborate plans for a new color scheme.

Ziggy showed up in the evening and sprawled discreetly on the sands in the shadows, accompanied by a man Chris didn't know who had dark curly hair and an even curlier mustache. Donovan also arrived late, and Chris, used to seeing him in gym sweats and spandex, almost didn't recognize his personal trainer in smart casual clothes.

But perhaps the most surprising attendee was Shirley, the administrator from Edward's office. Edward had gone to see her to make sure Chris was down as his beneficiary for his work insurance and pension, and had invited her to the party on a whim. She showed up arm in arm with a similarly formidable late-middle-aged lady, whom she introduced to the astonished Edward as, "Doll, my partner for the last thirty years." Shirley and Doll sat by the pool and drank a bottle of wine between them.

Linus turned up in the early evening, and brought both the '63 port and Ravi with him as promised.

"Chris, how enchanting to see you again," Ravi greeted him with a hug.

"Likewise." Chris was pleased. "Ravi, this is Edward."

"Ah, so you're the one who's stolen Chris's heart," Ravi said, beaming, shaking Edward by the hand. Chris enjoyed seeing Edward's jaw drop and eyes go fuzzy at the sight of Ravi in the flesh.

"Uh," Edward said indistinctly, staring, as his glasses slid down his nose. Ravi wasn't a stray cat so much as an immaculately groomed purebred. He was a young man with perfect white teeth showing in a perpetual smile, jet black hair, clear tawny skin, and eyes so dark brown that his pupils were almost invisible. He was also wearing a pair of very well-cut designer jeans, snug around the crotch.

"And Chris loves you enough to give you half of this house, and everything he owns." Ravi cast an admiring eye around the house. "This is a beautiful home. Linus says you built it?..."

Chris watched Edward chatting with Ravi for some time afterwards. Chris knew Ravi was polite, intelligent and articulate, and adept at smooth conversation.

"So," Chris said to Edward much later, the party now down to maybe a dozen close friends and partners mooching around the house. "Want to end the night with a bang?"

Edward grinned. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well, I was thinking you might want to spend some time with Ravi."

Edward looked pleased. "Maybe we both could?"

"We'll see," Chris said briskly. He was rather looking forward to watching Edward with Ravi, actually. "He's in the guest bedroom right now, with Linus."

They made their way to the bedroom, to find Linus flat on his back on the bed and Ravi, naked, riding Linus's cock very slowly. Ravi's skin gleamed in the half-light, his magnificent back shining with sweat, muscles bunched in his thighs as he eased himself up and down. Chris pulled Edward towards him and they sat and watched for a while, until Linus climaxed inside Ravi with a convulsed gasp. Ravi sat panting for a minute before lifting himself off and away.

"Ravi, sweetheart, I'd reciprocate," Linus said, still puffing. He rolled over to one side. "Except I rather think our hosts might want to help you out instead."

Chris gives Edward a little push in the small of his back, and Edward joined Ravi on the bed. They kissed, then Ravi looked up and beckoned Chris over too. Feeling a trifle awkward, Chris moved to sit on the bed too.

"Congratulations, the pair of you," Ravi murmured, one hand on Chris's knee, the other ruffling Edward's hair. "I've got a _verrry _special present in mind. You ever both fucked the same guy at the same time before?"

It sounded incredibly corny, like it might be a joke. Chris tried to laugh, but found himself having a coughing fit instead. Edward's eyes were wide, and from the side there came a large sigh from Linus. Ravi meant it; fuck, Chris had only seen that happen in porn films.

"No, but there's always a first time," Edward said boldly, and Chris gulped a little, and nodded assent.

They removed clothes, and Chris rolled on a condom, and really wasn't quite sure what to do next.

"Lie down," Ravi whispered in his ear, and Chris obediently lay on his back. Ravi moved to mount him, as he had done Linus a few minutes before, but facing away this time. Chris groaned and bucked his hips, thrusting upwards; Ravi's ass took him in readily, very easily. And then Edward came into view, nuzzling Ravi's neck. Chris heard the snap of latex and the click of a tube lid, Edward readying up, and wondered how on earth this was going to physically work.

Ravi leaned a long way back, his own ass and back pressing against Chris's chest. Chris's cock nearly slipped out, but he managed to keep it in, and then--fucking hell!--there was Edward's cock, gliding alongside his own, pushing inside Ravi, hard. _Fuckfuckfuck_, how Ravi was taking them both together Chris had no idea, he knew he couldn't possibly have done it himself.

He thrust upwards as far as he could; but he couldn't move very far with Ravi right above him. Edward had more freedom to move though, and Chris was very aware of Edward humping from the other side of Ravi, could feel Edward's cock pressing against his own, hear the slap of Edward's thighs against Ravi's.

They built up a rhythm, Chris and Edward somehow moving together, their erections closer and tighter together than in the most frantic of frottage, while Ravi's beautiful body shuddered sweat between them. Chris eventually came with a final writhing thrust and an incoherent cry, and incredibly, Edward came almost simultaneously, hands and arms scrabbling and clutching at Ravi's torso.

Ravi himself waited until they were both out of him and collapsed on the mattress, before jacking himself off casually.

"Best party ever," Linus rumbled from the side, and Chris was inclined to agree.

* * *

Ravi stayed with Linus for a couple of months but eventually departed. Time passed, life carried on. Stray cats came and went. Chris and Edward went on vacation to Europe together, and returned with a crate of obscure single malts and a bagful of film canisters documenting buildings that Edward had found interesting.

They were in their fifth year together when a crisis came unexpectedly out of the blue one ordinary weekday night.

They were at the club; there was a big game on, so Chris and Edward were in the downstairs bar watching the big screen TV. There was a large crowd in for the game, but Chris wrangled them a table and chairs, and they sat comfortably eating tacos and chatting, with half an eye on the TV.

Suddenly a shadow fell across the table and an incredulous voice said, "Edward?"

Edward's glasses slid right down his nose. He turned to look at the new arrival. "Pres?"

Pres? _Preston?_ Fucking hell! From nowhere, Chris felt blood start to pump furiously through his body. This was Edward's college ex. This was the abusive boyfriend, who Chris blamed for just about every issue and hang-up that Edward had, including the fact he'd ended up married.

Chris had long since thought in a hypothetical kind of way that if he ever met Preston, he would kill him. Now, confronted with the man in person, he swiftly realized it wasn't, of course, that simple.

He had to admit, Preston was a handsome devil. Tall and blond--very blond--and blue-eyed, with an excellent gym-toned physique. He was dressed casually in jeans and a shirt, but they were well-fitting designer jeans and the shirt was silk. Or some imitation of silk, but Chris thought it was real; Preston had the self-confident air that often came with wealth, the arrogance that sometimes came with inherited wealth.

"Well, how about that for a blast from the past," Preston said. His voice was as smooth as his slicked back hair. "You look good, Eddie boy." He looked at Chris. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Chris," Edward said, in an admirably normal voice. "Chris, this is, um, Preston. We used to know each other in college."

"Yeah." Chris met Edward's eye, narrowed his own, conveyed that yes, he'd picked up on the name, he knew _exactly_ who this son-of-a-bitch was.

"Mind if I join you?" Preston asked, his tone guileless. "We could catch up--"

"No, it's really not convenient," Edward said hastily, as Chris felt his body suffuse with rage at the idea; he wasn't going to even try and be civil to Edward's abusive ex. Edward carried on, sounding a trifle nervous, "Sorry. Um--I haven't seen you here before. You don't live around here, do you?"

That was a good question and Chris wanted to hear the answer, so stopped himself from doing anything rash.

"No, I live in New York. I was visiting friends for the weekend." Preston waved across the room, pointing to two men lingering at the bar. "We're just on our way back from Atlantic City; thought we'd find somewhere to watch the game."

"Right." Edward took a deep breath and said in a voice that masked insincerity very well, "Enjoy the rest of your weekend. Nice to see you again."

Preston nodded and went off to rejoin his friends. Chris watched as Preston pointed back towards them, saw the other guys turn to stare at Edward. It creeped Chris out. He reached across the table and gripped Edward's arm.

"I'm not having him and his fucking friends drinking here in my club."

"I don't want trouble." Edward was avoiding looking in their direction. "I don't want to make a scene. Let's just go, all right?"

Chris was reluctant to leave, but didn't want to upset Edward. He nodded, and they got up and headed towards the door. Unfortunately this meant walking past the bar where Preston and his friends were loitering.

"Leaving so soon, Eddie?" Preston asked.

"Yeah," Edward muttered, looking at the floor.

Chris jutted his chin up and glared first at Preston, then at each of his friends in turn. They were clones of him--tall, arrogant, and with a few more muscles. Steroid induced, Chris immediately deduced.

"I was just telling Rocky and Rambo here about you, Eddie boy." Preston smirked a little. Chris felt his hackles rise. He didn't like the sound of that one bit. "Sure you don't want to hang out?" Preston continued. "It could be just like old times."

Chris couldn't keep quiet any longer. "Fuck off."

Preston arched an interested eyebrow. "Whoa. Got yourself a jealous boyfriend, Eddie?"

"You bet I am." Chris locked eyes with Preston, who stared back for a few seconds, then laughed.

"No need for that. You know, you should thank me. Me and Eddie go way back. You could even say I broke him in for you."

Chris tipped his head forward sharply and butted Preston cleanly on the nose. Preston fell backwards with a cry, and people scattered as he crashed to the floor with blood pouring out of his nose. Chris stood over him, fists clenched.

At this first sign of trouble, Bob the club manager appeared from the crowd. Wearing an earphone, a badge, and a menacing scowl, he was clearly a figure of authority.

"This maniac here hit our friend!" Rocky (or possibly Rambo) cried, gesturing indignantly at Chris.

If Rocky had expected that Bob would grab Chris and haul him away, he was sorely disappointed. Of course Rocky had no way of knowing that Chris paid Bob's salary. Instead Bob said sharply, "Chris! What the hell?"

"Get--these--fuckers--out of here," Chris snarled, jabbing a finger in the direction of Preston on the floor. "Now! And I _never_ want to see them here ever again."

Two bouncers appeared from behind Bob, and hauled Preston to his feet. He stumbled away between them, Rocky and Rambo following. Chris stood, breathing heavily. Spectacle at an end, the crowd started to melt away.

Bob looked carefully at Chris's face, suffused with blood and fury, and said, "All right, they've gone. Relax, will you?"

"I mean it. If he ever sets foot in here again, I'm gonna kill him," Chris raged.

"Ziggy's upstairs playing poker," Bob warned. Chris supposed he couldn't kill Preston with a police officer in the bar above.

"Chris," Edward said, his voice distressed. He reached out and put a hand on Chris's arm. Chris let it rest there, and tried to calm down.

"Okay," Chris barked. He wanted to go home, but not while Preston and company were likely to be just outside licking their wounds. He took a deep breath and said to Edward, "Let's go to my office."

He led the way upstairs and behind the bar to his office, where he and Edward curled up on the casting couch for a while.

"Can't believe it, Pres popping up after all this time," Edward said, restive.

Chris was remembering with grim unease that Edward had once loved this asshole, had been willing to do anything for him. "Fond memories?"

"No." Edward was sharp.

"He's hot," Chris couldn't help saying, pushing. He felt a spark of jealousy that he hadn't felt at all with regard to Claudia.

"Yeah, but he's not a nice person, Chris," Edward said soberly. "I did figure that out in the end. He can be charming when he wants to... but he's a bit of psycho underneath."

Chris reviewed what he knew about Edward's relationship with Preston. Rough, violent, deliberately painful sex; Edward being doped up to the nines on drink and pot and poppers to make him relax; being occasionally gang-banged by Preston's friends. It made Chris want to kill Pres all over again. "Only a _bit _of a psycho?"

"Yeah, well." Edward sighed. "It was years ago. Shall we go?"

They left the club, heading outside around the side of the building towards the staff parking area. Chris was fishing his car keys out of his pocket when suddenly he became aware of movement behind him. As he started to turn around, something dropped over his head and temporarily blotted out sight and hearing. A dark hood, made out of a soft fabric--and wet; soaked in something with a strong smell--chloroform, fucking hell, he was being _drugged_\--

Everything went black.

* * *

When Chris regained consciousness he was lying on his chest on a hard surface. The hood had been taken off, and his forehead was pressing into metal. He tried to shift his head to look around but could barely move. His head was pounding, he felt giddy and weak as a kitten, and there was a strange buzzing sensation somewhere around his right hip.

He managed to move his head just enough to see he was in the back of a van. Bright light glared down, making him squint and blink painfully. The van door was open at the back and Chris watched as Preston, Rocky and Rambo manhandled Edward inside.

Edward hadn't been drugged, he was struggling wildly, he'd even lost his glasses somehow along the way. Rocky had a hand tight over his mouth. They got him inside, the van door slammed shut, and suddenly Chris and Edward were trapped in a small confined windowless space with three psychopaths.

"Get the fuck away from me!" Edward shouted as Rocky lifted his hand off Edward's mouth. Edward wrenched free and struck Preston on the cheek.

"Calm down, Eddie boy," Preston said sharply. Rocky grabbed Edward's hand; Edward tried to kick him, and while he was off balance Preston pushed him over. Edward fell with a crash into the side of the van, then onto the floor.

"That's more like it," Preston crouched down, then sat on top of Edward's legs, using his weight to keep Edward down. Edward thrashed around with his arms, and Rocky moved to hold them still.

"Boyfriend's awake," Rambo said, pointing at Chris. "Shall I put the hood back on him?"

"No," Preston said, grasping Edward by the hips. "Just sit on him, make sure he doesn't move. I want him to watch this."

_God Oh God. _They were going to rape Edward and they were going to make him watch. With a huge surge of desperation, Chris tried to move, but his body just wouldn't respond. Rambo moved towards him and straddled his back, pinning him to the floor.

Edward continued to struggle with Preston and managed to land a sharp blow on Rocky's chin.

"Ow, fucking hell!" Rocky looked annoyed. "Shall we put the hood on _him,_ knock him out for a bit?"

"No." Preston pushed Edward firmly face down to the floor, and Rocky pinned his wrists. "I want him to feel this. Inch by inch. Just like old times."

"Fuck--off--" Edward gasped.

"You can each have a turn after," Preston added to Rocky and Rambo, as he reached around to undo Edward's belt. Edward twisted away furiously, to no avail.

"Oh yeah," said Rocky, gripping Edward's wrists, holding him still. "Bring it on."

"I think the boyfriend's more my type," Rambo said, running a hand over the back of Chris's head, ruffling his hair. Chris's befuddled brain realized with slow outrage that Rambo's cock was hard and pressing down against his back.

Edward abruptly stopped struggling. "Don't touch him." Edward's voice was suddenly calm, urgent. "Do whatever you want with me. Just don't hurt Chris."

Chris opened his mouth but no sound came out. He stared across the van at Edward, trying to convey with his eyes, _don't be an idiot. Don't sacrifice yourself to these sick fuckers for me_.

"Aw, that's so sweet," Rambo mocked.

Rocky snorted. "Hell, that is some offer. You don't know what I'd like to do to you, Eddie. You might change your mind if you knew."

"I don't care." Edward was still. "Let him go. Let him out of this van, and I'll stay. You can drive me wherever and do what you want."

The idea of Edward being driven away by these sick bastards to God knows what horrific fate appalled Chris more than he could bear. Except he had to bear it, he still couldn't talk, could hardly move, and Rambo was sitting on his back.

"Nice try, Eddie," Preston said. "But no deal."

Chris watched with nausea as Preston tugged Edward's belt undone, pulled his jeans down his ass, Edward shuddering violently. Rocky held on tight to Edward's wrists as Preston sat back on his heels and undid his own fly.

Utterly repulsed, Chris made another huge effort to speak, to move; he managed to get out a weak, cracked, "No," and Edward looked at him, brown eyes large and trembling. Chris's heart broke in two right there and then. Meanwhile, Rambo put a hand down to feel Chris's ass--

And then a voice yelled from outside, "Police! _Open this door, now!"_

Preston froze, dick in hand. And then the van door burst open to reveal Ziggy with a gun, and Bob right behind him. Chris had never been so glad to see anyone in his life.

* * *

It turned out that a passerby had seen a young man with dark hair and glasses struggling with three other men outside a white van, and gone into the club to report it. Bob had been immediately uneasy at the description of Edward, and tried to call Chris on his cell; the buzzing sensation Chris had felt when he woke had been his cell vibrating in his jeans pocket.

With no answer, Bob had instantly assumed the worst, and gone to fetch Ziggy and find the van. On the way they'd found Chris's car keys and Edward's spectacles on the ground, so knew something had gone terribly wrong.

Linus was right, Chris ruefully reflected later; it was damn useful to have a friendly neighborhood cop around. Ziggy had been a rock, arresting Preston, Rocky and Rambo on the spot and whisking them away. There was no chance of Chris or Edward pressing any charges, but Ziggy assured Chris in an undertone that the three of them would have a fucking horrible night to remember in jail, and were unlikely to ever risk setting foot in the state again.

A couple of days later Chris was at home not doing much when Linus dropped by. "Chris, I've just seen Ziggy... he told me all about the other night at the club. It sounds like you and the darling boy had a terribly narrow escape!"

"It was," Chris admitted.

"Ziggy said to tell you that he searched their van and found all kinds of interesting drugs in it. Plus a video camera with some footage of their trip to Atlantic City, including some very nasty encounters with rather young looking men." Linus shook his head with solemnity. "Ziggy's got 'em, Chris, dead to rights."

"Good." Chris was glad to hear it, but he couldn't bring himself to feel much about Preston any more.

He'd kind of worked through all that with Edward the night after it had happened.

* * *

When they'd finally got home that night, Preston and friends safely in cuffs and on their way to jail, neither Chris nor Edward felt like going to bed despite the lateness of the hour. The effects of the chloroform had worn off, meaning Chris was feeling more human, but also coming to the surface were all the fury, terror and other emotions that had been smudged and blurred by the drug. He wandered around the house from room to room, trying to come to terms with what had happened, with what had nearly happened.

He eventually marched into the living room, where Edward was standing looking blank-eyed at a shelf of books, and demanded, "How could you ever have wanted to be with a guy like that?"

Edward twitched. "It was years ago. I was young and stupid and didn't know any better."

"I don't buy it," Chris said flatly. "You're not stupid. You must have gotten something out of it--enjoyed it on some level--"

"Chris!" Edward's voice was outraged.

Chris knew he was going too far now but anger drove him on. "Maybe that's why you wanted to let them drive you off in that van--so you could get off on it--"

"Fuck you! _Fuck--you! _You wanna know what it was like?" Edward yelled. "Then I'll show you what it was like."

And he stepped behind Chris, planted his hands on Chris's back and shoved him hard. Chris, caught off balance, fell against the arm of the couch nearby, and slid onto his knees. Slightly winded, he looked around in surprise and found Edward right behind him, glaring, menacing.

"Drop your pants," Edward dictated. And before Chris could respond, Edward dropped his voice and muttered in Chris's ear, "Say the word, and I'll stop. Alright?"

"Yeah," Chris managed to gasp. The safe word; they'd hardly ever used it. But Chris didn't want to use it now, whatever happened; he wanted to let this play out.

He fumbled with his fly, pulled down his jeans and boxers, heard the snap of Edward's belt buckle behind him and then felt Edward's cock, long and hardening, poking at his ass. Chris felt himself tense right up at the prospect of what was going to happen. He tried to relax, but his body was completely unprepared, without any lubrication he couldn't even begin to take Edward. Edward pushed a little and that only made Chris tense even more.

"Don't move," Edward hissed, and left the room abruptly. He was back a minute later with a small bottle that he cracked open under Chris's nose. Chris breathed in; _amyl nitrite._ Someone had left it behind after their big party last year, it had sat in the back of their bathroom cabinet ever since. Chris felt his body relax, muscles unclench.

Edward's cock pushed towards his ass again, and Chris tensed briefly as a reflex, but the drug continued to roll around his system, his body eased up, and he took it. It still hurt, but he took it. His heart started to thud increasingly quickly, and he felt dizzy. Edward started to thrust inside him properly, and Chris gasped and bit his lip to stop himself crying ou_t._ Edward's cock was like a cauterizing iron, hot and hard and unrelenting, an unwelcome burning intrusion inside his body.

He could stop it--a corner of Chris's brain raged at himself, _say the word and stop this right now you idiot_. But he didn't--he bit his tongue and squeezed his eyes shut and told himself he could cope with this; it was Edward inside him, Edward whom he loved so much, Edward who he would do anything for--

Edward who would do anything for him--

Edward's hand grasped Chris's hips and levered in with ever increasing force, pumping like a piston. His fingers pinched and his fingernails dug into Chris's skin. Chris yearned for a gentler touch, wanted to feel Edward's palm slide down and around to his own cock--but no, Edward resolutely ignored Chris's straining erection, all his concentration brought to bear on his own arousal.

With a couple of final fierce thrusts, Edward came, and Chris felt relief at the respite; the thrusts slowed and stopped, and blessed natural lubrication eased the way. Edward pulled out sharply though, and that hurt; Chris let out an involuntary, _"Fuck!"_

Chris sank down onto the couch, resting on his chest. The drug was numbing the pain well, but he could tell he was terribly sore, knew he wasn't going to be able to sit down properly for quite a while.

"Jerk yourself off," Edward directed, and Chris obeyed. Edward watched with a clinical eye, and it took a few more jerks than Chris thought it would before his body responded, spurting into his fist.

He lay on the couch, on his side, not daring to roll onto his back. Edward lay quietly down next to him, then threw an arm around Chris's torso and hugged him close. Apparently, the lesson was over; Chris breathed in silent relief.

After a few minutes Chris found himself able to speak, and now he knew what to say. "You shouldn't have offered yourself up for me. They could have killed you, and I would have never have forgiven myself."

"It was me they wanted, I've been through all this before, I knew I could take it," Edward said, calm, collected. "But I couldn't stand you being dragged into it. If they'd fucked you over too, I could never have forgiven myself either."

Chris kissed Edward on the lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> House and Wilson meet Ravi years later in [ Blowjob on the Balcony](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12995), and Preston in [Stalker Boy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/72913).


	10. Crazy Little Thing Called Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris gets an unexpected declaration of love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning:** Phone sex, infidelity, voyeurism.

"So, are you managing to sell any of those new beers?" Chris picked up the sheaf of print-outs and ran a practiced eye over the columns.

"Sure thing, boss," Brandon said, cheerful.

Brandon had worked at Chris's bar on the main road for a number of years, recently graduating from senior bartender to the bar manager. He had shoulder length hair, usually loose and unruly, occasionally tied back in a short ponytail, and a goatee beard. He also customarily wore tight jeans which showed off a damn fine ass. Chris had enjoyed a casual flirtation with him for some years.

Chris flipped through the inventory, found the set of figures he was looking for, and was impressed. Brandon had expanded the range of bottled beers; Chris hadn't seen the need, but let him run with it. And Brandon had got a much better deal from the supplier than Chris might have expected, and now it looked like the new beers were selling well, after all.

"Looks good. Hope it keeps up. Is the new bartender settling in okay?" Chris asked.

Brandon shook his head. "He was padding the tabs. Had to go."

"Oh!" Chris was surprised, but impressed that Brandon had caught it, and dealt with it so quickly.

"I've found someone else, he starts next week, we'll see," Brandon added, and again Chris was impressed at the speed with which Brandon solved problems.

The bar wasn't much to look at, it was just a roadside pick-up joint, and was always going to have a rough edge to it. But despite this, Chris had noticed numerous small improvements. Tables were being cleared more quickly, ashtrays emptied before they actually overflowed, there was always a good supply of clean glasses, and all the necessary beverages were consistently in stock. The previous manager had been excellent at dealing with difficult drunken customers, and honest with handling money, but not, Chris reflected ruefully, very efficient at everything else.

"Good job all round," Chris said sincerely, and was a little surprised when Brandon dropped his eyes and smiled, rather than grinning straight back at him.

"Thanks, boss," Brandon said.

Chris slid off the bar stool, and Brandon raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You're not staying?"

"Not tonight." Chris pulled on his jacket.

"I thought with Edward away, you might want to hang out here for a while," Brandon said, moving off down the bar, picking up some dirty glasses.

Edward was away for two weeks in Baltimore, working on a big apartment block development. Linus was away too, in the middle of one of his mammoth six-month business trip/vacations abroad, so for the last few days Chris had been spending quiet evenings on his own hanging out in his various establishments.

"Not tonight. Edward's free this evening and I said I'd call him." Chris picked up his motorcycle helmet.

"You could call from here." Brandon was tidying bottles, making sure all the labels faced outwards.

"Not tonight," Chris said for the third time, his mind now firmly on Edward as he moved towards the door. "I'll see you in a day or so, okay?"

* * *

It was late evening when Chris got home and called Edward on his cell. "Hey, it's me. This a good time?"

"Chris, it's an excellent time." Edward sounded genuinely pleased. "Just finished dinner, and there's nothing on TV. Missing me?"

"Yeah," Chris said huskily. It had now been more than seven years since he'd first met Edward, and and they hadn't been apart for more than a week in a long while. "Missing me?"

"Not during the day, there's so much to do, but now... on my own in a strange town. Yeah, I miss you."

"Where are you?" Chris asked, moving through from the living room into the bedroom.

"In my hotel room."

Chris sat on the bed and tried to imagine Edward in his hotel room, pictured him moving around, hair flopping over his forehead, spectacles falling off his nose. Or perhaps in an armchair, legs hooked up over an arm, as he was wont to do at home. Or... "In bed?..."

"Lying on my bed," Edward responded, and now Chris could see Edward, flat on his back, socked feet stretched out across the mattress. "What about you?"

"Lying on our bed," Chris said blithely. He settled back comfortably on the pillows and let his free hand pass over his crotch. "So, we might as well be lying on the same bed, right?"

Edward let out a breathy laugh. "And what would you be doing right now if we were?"

"I'd be right on top of you with my hand down your pants," Chris said, bold.

"Whoa. That sounds good." There was a rustle down the phone, then the distinct sound of a zipper. Chris imagined Edward with his eyes closed and a hand down his pants. _Fuck yes._ The visual was good enough to make Chris switch the phone to his left hand, and send his right hand to the same place.

"You just switched hands," Edward said immediately, sounding amused.

"I kinda need my right hand for something else." Chris was playful.

"Tell me." Teasing.

"I've got the most serious hard-on," Chris muttered, and was rewarded with an instant sharp intake of breath down the line. Chris didn't go on, but waited, pulling at his dick inside his jeans.

"You'd better take your pants off then," Edward said eventually.

"Maybe you should, too." Chris wriggled out of his jeans, shedding his boxers with them.

"I am." And indeed Chris could hear faint background rustling. "I've got the most serious hard-on, too."

Damn it all to hell. Chris pictured Edward in the hotel room, naked from the waist down, his shirt front nestling against his beautiful cock. Chris knew perfectly well what it looked like and held the image in his head as he started to jack at his own erection.

"Well, I think we need to do something about that," Chris murmured, trying to keep his voice steady but not altogether succeeding. "I'm still on top of you, right, rubbing up against you..."

"God." Edward's voice was fogged. "Keep going."

"My chest against your chest, my groin against your groin, kissing you like crazy..." Chris could hear a squeak of bedsprings.

"Yes--yes," Edward murmured. "Chris--_fuck me_\--"

"I'm finger-fucking you right now," Chris was quick to respond, as he pumped at his own cock. "Stretching you, making you nice and ready--"

"Oh yeah..."

"And you're spreading those legs for me, letting me in, you're ready for me now, aren't you?" Chris could almost see Edward sprawled on that bed, ready and waiting. "Okay, so now I'm about to fuck your sweet little ass--I'm pushing in right now--"

"Jesus Christ!" Edward gasped, and the strangled gasp was identical to the one Chris was accustomed to hear in bed, that signaled climax was not far off.

"Oh my God, I'm fucking your ass, it's so goddamn tight, fucking hell," Chris gasped back, now completely caught up in the moment. "I'm gonna come right inside you--fill you up--_Edward_\--"

"Chris--ahh, _Chris_\--" And from the high-pitched whine, Chris knew Edward was coming right there and then; and the glorious image sent him over the edge too, and he spilled into his own fist.

Chris lay for a moment in stunned, awed silence, aware only of his own labored breathing and Edward's similar breath coming in puffs down the phone.

"Hey, you're just as good when you're two hundred miles away," Edward eventually said, still sounding a little dizzy.

That made Chris laugh. "I hope I'm a bit better in the flesh."

He thought of Edward's warm, post-coital body, that would normally be snuggled next to him right now, and suddenly missed it intensely.

* * *

Chris didn't return to the roadside bar the next day, or the day after that. There were other places he had to go visit, and Brandon was managing things very well, and Chris trusted him to continue to do so.

It was three days before he next saw Brandon, and then it wasn't at the bar but at the club. A longtime member of staff was leaving, and a bunch of people turned up for the going away party. Chris spotted Brandon across the room when he arrived, and waved, but was occupied with other people. It was a good hour or so later before they met.

Brandon appeared by his side, and touched his elbow. "Hey, boss."

"Hey, Brandon." Chris turned to face him, smiling, a little tipsy, and to his surprise Brandon greeted him with a kiss on the lips. Chris hummed a little under his breath; Brandon tasted delicious, smoke and mints splendidly intermingled.

"So, when's Edward back?" Brandon asked, stepping backwards.

"Next week," Chris replied, suddenly a little lonely at the mere question. Chris was missing Edward badly, phone sex notwithstanding.

"Right." Brandon hesitated. "Chris, there's something I need to tell you."

"Oh?" Chris thought there might be news of the new bartender. Or perhaps the jukebox had broken again; the vendor had been promising a new machine for weeks, Brandon had been hounding the repairman.

"I'm in love with you. Have been for a while," Brandon said matter-of-factly. And as Chris stared at him in surprise and alarm, Brandon went on hastily, "Don't worry, I don't expect you to do anything, or say anything. But it's been eating me up for a long time now, and I figured I should get it off my chest."

Chris was speechless. Brandon continued, "Also, I wanted to explain why I'll be handing in my notice shortly. I just need to put it in writing, I'll give you it when you're in the bar sometime. Have to go now. I'll see you around."

* * *

 

Edward called that evening, and he and Chris had a comfortable chat about how work was going and how the going away party at the club had gone.

"I had a declaration of love," Chris eventually admitted, a trifle sheepish.

"Oh yeah?" Edward sounded amused. "From who?"

"Brandon. And he was serious, too."

"Oh. Crap." Edward was obviously taken aback. "What did he say?"

"He said he was in love with me, had been for a while, and now he's quitting."

"He's quitting because he's in love with you?"

"Apparently. He ran off before I could say anything. I need to talk to him." Chris sighed, not looking forward to this conversation. "I have to go up to the bar tomorrow anyway, to see the motel, so I'll talk to him then."

"Let him down gently," said Edward. "And be careful not to buy the motel while you're distracted."

* * *

The bar where Brandon worked was next door to a motel. Mr Malachy, the motel owner and manager, was retiring and had been trying to sell for a while. He was having some difficulty, and Chris had found himself invited round to take a look with a view to buying. Chris had accepted to be polite; he wasn't particularly interested, but Mr Malachy was a good neighbor who had almost never objected to the sometimes raucous goings on at the bar next door.

"You've already got the bar, it would make a lot of sense to have the motel too," Mr Malachy urged. "Lots of synergy. You can market them together. Rent a motel room for the night, have a free drink. Have a few drinks, don't drink and drive, get a motel room."

"I know bars. I don't know motels," Chris objected.

"So hire yourself someone who does. It's a good going concern."

Chris could actually see the sense in it. The bar and motel were sufficiently near each other for there to be a considerable crossover of clientele in both directions. Indeed, Chris had had a few memorable carnal encounters in the motel himself.

Also, it would help the bar if they could improve the look of the motel. Mr Malachy had not spent much on maintenance in the last few years, and Chris had unsuccessfully tried to persuade him to replace the dead light bulbs on the roadside 'MOTEL' sign for a while now. It irked Chris that the sign advertised an 'MO L'. But with retirement pending, Mr Malachy had been watching the pennies and not inclined to spend any money he didn't have to.

So it made some sense. But Chris didn't know motels, and didn't feel like embarking on a major new project right now.

"Not convinced," he said to Mr Malachy, and managed to extricate himself and head on over to the bar. He knew Brandon would come on shift after lunch. He sat there with a sandwich and soda until Brandon appeared.

Brandon came over straight away, leaned on the bar in front of Chris. He looked just the same as ever, but Chris saw him in a whole new light. Chris remembered Brandon asking if he was staying when he'd last been in the bar, and now recognized the expression when he'd said no as disappointment. Suddenly other things made sense, too. The occasional lonesome look in Brandon's eye, the odd distracted stare, the pleasure when Chris had praised his work.

"Look, I'm sorry," Chris said, coming to the point straight away. "I had no idea."

"It's cool. Don't worry about it." Brandon picked up a napkin lying on the counter, twisted it in his hands.

"How long?..."

"A year, maybe." Brandon used the napkin to wipe up an imaginary spill.

"A year!" Chris was shocked. He'd seen a lot of Brandon over the last year, since making him bar manager. They'd spent hours together poring over paperwork, Chris explaining procedures. "You should've said something."

"What would I have said?" Brandon asked simply. "You're with Edward. I don't want to come between you two. It's just one of those things."

Chris shrugged helplessly. "Do you have another job to go to?"

"No, but I can always get bar work."

"You just made manager here, and you're doing really well. I don't want you to leave," Chris protested.

"I like it here." Brandon stared around. "But I can't stay."

"Why not?"

"Chris." Brandon looked down at the counter. "Every day I hope you'll walk in the door any minute, but you usually don't, and I keep being disappointed, but still hoping. And when you _are _here, I want you to stay, I want you to spend as much time here as possible... and yet I want you to go, too, because I just can't stand being this close to you and not fucking doing anything about it."

Chris was speechless in the face of this unexpected glimpse into Brandon's psyche.

"And it doesn't help that I want to do really well in this job for you, want to make this bar successful, but the better I do, the happier you are with it all, the less often you visit, the less time you spend when you do," Brandon went on, and Chris winced at the truth of this.

Chris had never experienced unrequited feelings like this, never been in love with anyone except Edward, never desired anyone else before that he hadn't been able to have. He wondered briefly what it would be like if Edward hadn't returned his own feelings, and the thought was so awful that he dropped it hurriedly.

Basically, the situation sucked. And he didn't know what to do about it.

"Is there anything I can do to make you stay?" Chris asked eventually, feeling helpless.

Brandon laughed and shrugged. "You could try and convince me over dinner."

* * *

"So let me get this straight," said Edward on the phone that evening. "You got him to stay by agreeing to go on a date with him."

"It's not a date—"

"It's dinner, just you and him, in the evening, it's a date! Chris, what the hell do you think you're playing at?"

"It's just dinner! He said he didn't want to come between us--"

"And you _believed_ him?"

"Yes, actually, I did!" Chris was indignant. "You don't?"

"No I fucking well don't! You think it's a coincidence he did this while I was away? He's going to talk to you about your dreams, hopes and aspirations, get you drunk, take you home, and try and get into your pants. He's been in love with you for a year, he's got you to agree to go out on a date, you think he's gonna let you get away that easily?"

"Edward, honestly--"

"Don't fuck him," Edward said shortly. "Just because you're telling me about it, it's not okay. If he was a kid with a crush, I'd say go for it, give him a good time and let him move on. But Brandon's not a kid, he says he's in love with you, and he works for you. Anything you do to encourage him will only make the situation worse. For him. And you. And me."

"We're just having dinner. I'm not gonna have sex with him." Chris was annoyed now. "I don't do staff."

Edward snorted. "Chris, you'd have done Brandon years ago if you'd had the slightest inkling he was interested."

That was too close to the truth for Chris's liking. If Brandon hadn't given him the _I'm in love with you _line, if he'd just made a pass, suggested a roll in the hay, included Edward... Chris might well have gone for it, and Edward probably wouldn't have objected either. But now this _love _stuff was in the picture, it was a whole new ball game.

"Can we change the subject?" Chris asked, a trifle desperately.

They changed the subject, but Edward was obviously still simmering with anger and they rang off shortly afterwards.

* * *

Chris and Brandon had dinner a few days later. Chris tried to tell himself he wasn't acting surreptitiously by suggesting a restaurant in Princeton, which was a good hour and a half away. He also offered to drive, so he wouldn't be inclined to drink and get seduced without realizing it. It turned out that Brandon lived some way in the other direction, so in the end they agreed to get there separately and meet at the restaurant.

Dinner was good. They'd always been able to chat comfortably together and Chris was pleased to find this was still the case. They shared a common interest in sailing, although Brandon preferred surfing and waxed lyrical about this hobby for some time.

Chris made a point of talking a little about Edward, trying to make it clear (without actually saying so) that he wasn't doing anything behind Edward's back. He tried to make a joke of it, even saying, "Edward's a bit paranoid, he thinks you waited for him to go away before coming on to me."

Brandon laughed back, although Chris noticed he didn't deny it.

After dinner they ambled outside and as it wasn't at all late, they headed for a small nightclub nearby. Chris hoped they weren't likely to meet anyone they knew, but unfortunately he had underestimated how far the gay community was prepared to travel to a friendly venue. He bumped into someone he knew as they came in the door.

"Chris! Well, you're a way from home." It was a guy who occasionally visited the club, not a regular, but Chris recognized him. He looked at Brandon, and dropped his voice so only Chris could hear. "And playing away from home too, I see. Edward not around?"

Chris glared at him. "This is Brandon, he's just a friend."

"Hey, your secret's safe with me," the guy said with a wink, and swanned off before Chris could reply.

Realizing that his attempt at anonymity was doomed to failure, Chris sighed and moved on. The place was dimly lit, crowded and there were no free tables. They had a drink standing at the bar, close together as there were groups on either side of them, and they were occasionally jostled by passers by.

One whiskey later, Chris was feeling more mellow and relaxed. Then someone bumped into him from behind. He took an involuntary step forward and found himself almost cheek to cheek with Brandon. Brandon tilted his head slightly, nuzzling Chris's neck; then Chris tipped his own head, and their lips met.

This was bad, but felt good. Brandon's stubble tickled slightly. Their tongues met, tentatively exploring, and Chris felt a nerve run right from the tip of his tongue down to his groin. Oh yeah, this was very nice. Brandon moved a hand to Chris's shoulder, and it was all very cozy and increasingly erotic.

"Man, you make me feel seventeen again," Brandon said with a laugh.

"Oh?" Chris murmured.

"Like it's all just so new and hot I could come in my pants."

Chris couldn't resist snaking a hand downwards, cupping what felt like a considerable erection in Brandon's jeans. That felt... good. It was dark in the club and nobody was looking at them. Chris shifted his stance to push Brandon towards the bar, using his own body as a shield between Brandon an everyone else around. Brandon groaned a little, and Chris plucked Brandon's fly buttons open; _one, two, three_. Brandon's jaw fell open as Chris wormed his hand inside. He wrapped his palm around the large, swelling cock within, and started to roll upwards and downwards.

Brandon's eyes squeezed shut and a minute later he made a noise, "_Gnnn_\--" and came right into Chris's hand. Chris stayed still for another minute, letting him recover, then removed his hand, reaching into a pocket for a tissue.

"You wanna..." Brandon muttered.

"No," Chris was firm. He had no doubt that Brandon would have gladly reciprocated, or indeed let him do absolutely anything right now, but Chris wasn't going to allow it. Despite the hard-on he was nursing right now.

"You sure?" Brandon's eyes flicked around the club. "We could go somewhere--"

"No! Edward's already mad at me for doing dinner with you. I'm not going to cheat on him." Chris guiltily supposed that giving Brandon a semi-public hand job already constituting cheating, and hastily pushed that thought aside. What was done was done; he wasn't going to let it go any further.

Brandon let out a breathy sigh as he buttoned his fly back up. "You really love him."

Chris was surprised. "Yeah, I do. Look, we'd better go."

They walked outside and headed towards their cars. They paused as they reached Brandon's.

"Look, Chris." Brandon had downcast eyes. "Edward's right. I _was _waiting for him to go away before I told you how I felt... I know it's stupid, but I couldn't help but hope you'd just go for it... I hadn't realized you and him were so..."

"I'm going to buy the motel next door," Chris blurted out. "Would you stay on and manage that for me? It would be a big job. A new challenge. More money, more responsibility--"

Brandon looked completely taken aback, even more surprised than Chris himself. "I don't know anything about motels."

"So you can learn. I've got a friend who owns motels, you can go visit for a while, pick it up." Chris was speaking almost before he thought, words tumbling out. "I'd give you free rein, lots of autonomy. You wouldn't see that much of me, either. I wouldn't be sitting in a motel for hours like I do with the bar."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Let me think about it." Brandon hesitated. "You're--you're very kind."

"You'd do a good job, and I don't want to have to hire someone new," Chris said gruffly. "And you realize I'm not going to have sex with you."

"You can't love me, but you can give me a job," Brandon said humorously. He unlocked his car and opened the door. "Guess I can't complain. Thanks, Chris... I've had a great evening."

* * *

Chris drove home briskly, thoughts of motel ownership spinning through his head. He arrived back after midnight and got a shock; lights were on. Edward was home. Chris walked in the kitchen door, glancing at the date on his watch; Edward was back two days early.

"Yes, it's late," Edward said, his voice sharp as he walked through from the living room and saw Chris looking at his watch. "But I was thinking maybe you'd be out all night, maybe you'd gone back to _Brandon's_ place, so I guess I'm glad you're here at all."

"It's really good to see you--" Chris began, genuinely pleased, and stopped, because Edward wasn't looking as if he was in the mood for a conciliatory, welcome-back embrace.

"So, how was your date?" Edward asked, straight out.

* * *

One explanation later, Edward was not impressed. In fact, he was furious. Chris couldn't remember him being this angry in a long time.

"For fuck's sake! Most people with a bit on the side shack up in a motel room for a night," Edward shouted. "You _buy_ him a motel!"

"He is _not_ my bit on the side!" Chris objected

"The hell he isn't!" Edward slammed a fist onto the kitchen table. "He declares undying love for you, so you take him on a date, jerk him off, and then buy a business so he can run it for you."

"I'm not fucking him!"

"Everyone is going to think you are!" Edward struck back without hesitation. "And everyone will know you took up with him while I was away. I don't care how pure your intentions are, you're a fucking thoughtless cheating bastard, Chris. Get out."

"Huh?" The last sentence caught Chris by surprise.

* * *

A few minutes later, Chris stood outside his own front door and pondered what to do. Well, this was new. Edward had always been the one to storm out after the few major rows they'd had in the past, Chris had never been thrown out before.

He hesitated for a moment in the cool night air, then got on the Harley and drove to the motel. He could have gone to Linus's empty house, he had a key, but it seemed appropriate to go to the motel somehow. See what it was like as a customer.

It was by now one AM, but the desk clerk barely looked at him while handing over a key. Chris parked the bike outside the unit and went in. He found the interior depressingly plain. There a large bed with a thin mattress. He took off his jacket, kicked off his shoes, lay down, and put the TV on. The TV picture, at least, was impeccably good. Chris supposed there was a very decent income to be had from the adult channels.

Okay, so this place was always going to be a flophouse, but when he bought it he would still make sure these mattresses got replaced. He would put in an offer for the motel tomorrow. Mr Malachy would be delighted. Chris mused on what price to offer, and wondered what his lawyer and accountant were going to say when he told them he was buying a motel. They'd tell him he was crazy, doubtless. He'd tell them he was diversifying...

There was a knock on the door.

This couldn't be good at this time of night. Chris snapped off the TV, got up and tried to peek through the peephole in the door. He couldn't see a thing; filthy dirty, or maybe painted over. He opened the door, and there was Brandon.

"I went to the bar instead of going home. Just came out and saw your bike across the parking lot," Brandon said immediately. "You're staying here? Are you okay?"

"Edward's come home, he's not happy with me," Chris briefly explained. "He threw me out."

"Crap." Brandon looked genuinely stricken. "This is all my fault."

"Yeah, well. Shit happens." Chris was about to say _come in_, and realized just in time what a bad idea that was. If Edward found out he and Brandon had been at this motel together at this time of night, Edward would _never_ believe it was innocent. "I'll talk to him in the morning, I'm sure it'll be all right. But we should stay away from each other for a while, okay?"

"Okay."

"I'm gonna put in an offer for the motel tomorrow, and I'll let you know what happens," Chris added. "These things can take a while."

"You're really gonna buy this place?" Brandon looked around.

"Yeah." Chris was firm. "I'll get in touch with my friend Julio who owns some motels down in Florida, in Miami. I'll ask if you can go down and shadow one of his staff for a while. I'm sure he'll be glad to, he owes me a favor." Chris had found a job for a friend of Julio's not long ago who had wanted to move to New Jersey.

"You're very generous," Brandon said, and stepped backwards. "Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight," Chris said, tired now, and shut the door firmly between them.

* * *

Somehow he fell asleep after that, drained by the long day and eventful evening. He was woken abruptly by a tapping noise; someone at the door. He looked at his watch. Three AM. God, not Brandon again.

Chris got up, went over to the door but this time he didn't open it. Instead he put his mouth close to the door and spoke sharply. "Brandon, go home. I'm not going to fuck you. I'm not going to screw things up with Edward any worse than they already are."

There was silence from outside. Chris hesitated briefly, and the anonymity of the blank wooden door in front of him encouraged him to open up a little more. "I'm sorry, Brandon, I never meant to hurt you, but you know I don't feel the same way as you. I can't. I'm in love with Edward, I have been ever since I met him. He built our house, we've been through a lot together, it's been seven years now and I love him every bit as much as I ever have done. More, if anything. And I'm going to be with him as long as we live--"

"Chris," said a quiet voice through the door, and Chris froze rigid for a second, because it wasn't Brandon after all. It was Edward.

Chris groped for the door-handle, unlocked the door, opened it. Edward was standing there, brown eyes wide behind his spectacles. And Brandon was there too, a couple of paces behind Edward.

"That," said Edward, his voice gentle, "was freaking adorable."

Chris didn't know what to say.

"I went to see Edward, to apologize," Brandon explained from behind.

"He told me pretty much what you just did, actually," Edward said. "Can we come in?"

Still dumbfounded, Chris stepped backwards. Edward walked into the motel room, reached out and pulled Chris towards him. Chris sank gratefully into Edward's arms, buried his face in Edward's neck, relieved and suddenly thrilled to feel Edward close to him again. After nearly two weeks of being just a voice down a phone, here he was, his Edward, all warm skin and affectionate embrace.

He felt Edward's hand on his face, tipping his head back, and then they kissed. Chris shut his eyes and reveled in the familiarity of Edward's lips and tongue, each kiss lighting a small dancing fire in his blood, awaking desire in his loins.

From the corner of his eye, Chris could see that Brandon had come inside the room too, had shut the door and slipped into a chair in the corner. Chris knew that Edward was allowing this, had brought Brandon here to show him their reconciliation. Perhaps to warn him off, perhaps as a reward for backing off. Chris didn't care; if Edward didn't mind, he didn't mind either.

Edward slipped his glasses off, placing them on the nightstand. He turned back to Chris, hugged him hard and they fell on the bed together. Chris uttered an _"oof," _as he hit the thin mattress and felt the hard bed-frame beneath.

"How much are you gonna pay for this piece-of-crap motel?" Edward sounded amused.

"Asking price minus the cost of new mattresses," Chris joked, and Edward leaned down to cover Chris's mouth with his own. Chris sucked on Edward's lower lip and groaned as he felt Edward's hand on his crotch.

"Right on top of you with my hand down your pants," Edward muttered, and Chris gasped, first at the echo of what he had said on the phone to Edward a few days ago, then again as Edward did exactly what he'd said.

"That... sounds good," Chris managed to utter. "Feels good."

"I've got the most serious hard-on," Edward murmured in Chris's ear.

Chris fumbled to remember what came next. "You'd... better take your pants off."

"You should, too," Edward responded immediately, and they both wriggled to remove clothes. Chris could hear Brandon breathing quickly in the background, but for once the voyeurism wasn't the most important thing going on here. The most important thing was Edward, out of his pants now, that serious hard-on visible and proud.

"I've got the most serious hard-on, too," Chris mumbled, their conversation now flooding back with a vengeance.

"I can see. So we need to do something about it." Edward nestled back down on top of Chris. He was still wearing an undershirt, which hung damp with sweat against Chris's chest. "I'm on top, rubbing up against you..."

Their groins slid against each other, then locked briefly as both of them stayed still for a few seconds, relishing the feel of the other.

"Keep going," Chris gasped, and Edward started to rock backwards and forward, up and down, bucking his hips.

"My chest against your chest..." Edward sounded like he was starting to struggle to find the words now. He stopped talking and started to kiss Chris on the face, neck, throat.

"Edward--" Chris knew exactly what came next. "_Fuck me_\--"

Edward shifted downwards, kissing across Chris's chest, nipping lightly at each nipple. Chris groaned heavily and jerked his hips in reaction. Then he felt Edward pause, heard Edward spit, and then--GOD ALMIGHTY--Edward's finger probing at his ass, lingering at his entrance and then reaching right up inside. Chris cried aloud as Edward got his prostate with unnerving accuracy--years of practice, of course--then added another finger, stretching.

He heard Edward's voice whispering as if from a great distance, "Making you nice and ready--"

"Oh yeah..." Chris sprawled out a little, spreading his legs wider, allowing better access.

"Okay, so now I'm gonna fuck your sweet little ass," Edward said, his voice very hoarse now. "Right now--"

"Edward, argh, ohmygod," Chris felt momentarily speared, froze for a few seconds, then forced himself to relax. Edward paused above him, giving him time to get used to it, then started to thrust properly. They built up a rhythm rapidly, Chris taking him deeper and deeper with each push, steadying them with one hand on the bed, grasping and pumping at his own cock with the other.

"So goddamn tight--fucking hell," Edward gasped. "I'm gonna come--fill you up--_Chris_\--"

"Edward--ahh, _Edward_\--" And they both came in virtually simultaneous orgasm, Edward pumping deep inside Chris, Chris spurting across his own chest.

They both lay for a moment in stunned, awed silence, heavy breathing the only sound to be heard.

In the background, Chris heard a scraping noise as Brandon pushed his chair back and stood up. Then Brandon said, his voice low and quiet, "Nobody's ever gonna come between you guys."

He left, and Edward mumbled in Chris's ear, "I hope that gave him some closure."

"You're better in the flesh than two hundred miles away," Chris murmured back, and Edward managed a laugh. Chris pulled Edward's warm, post-coital body towards him and held on tight. They slept through the rest of the night.

* * *

The next day Chris put an offer in to buy the motel. Mr. Malachy complained at the price, but it was a fair deal which took into account the need for new mattresses, light bulbs and other inadequacies Chris had picked up on. They managed to come to an amicable agreement.

While the sale was going through, Brandon traveled to Miami to learn the ropes of motel management from Julio's staff. Brandon returned a month later, full of enthusiasm, overflowing with bright ideas, and (to Chris's surprise) joined at the hip to a flamboyant guy with long flowing blond locks and an unrivaled suntan. His name was Tony. He'd previously worked as a cocktail waiter down in Florida, and had met Brandon at a surfing competition; he had family in New Jersey and wanted to move back.

After some hesitation, Chris gave Tony a trial as manager of the bar, found him bright and competent. Brandon and Tony settled down happily, running the bar and the motel together in perfect harmony.


	11. Linus the Fairy Godmother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward reflects on his life with Chris, and makes friends with one of Linus's stray cats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning:** A shift of tense and point of view. References to non-monogamous relationships, teenage sexuality and adult themes.

_Year 1_

Edward likes Chris from the moment he first sees him, standing looking out to sea, master of all he surveys. Tall and strong, straw colored hair bleached light by the sun, and such warm gray eyes.

He likes Chris even more once they start talking. Chris is thoughtful, fair, honest, quick to pick up on detail. He knows what he wants but is open to new ideas.

Edward is aware straight away that this man is interested in him. The bat of an eyelid, the tilt of a head, tiny flirtatious signs right from the start. He finds it a little hard to understand--Edward thinks of himself as cute enough in the right light, perhaps, but geeky behind his spectacles--but he's flattered.

And they have chemistry, they connect. The first time they kiss, although it's gentle and tentative, is still like a searing bullet through Edward's body. It rips him open and reveals a hidden core he didn't know he had. It scares him rigid at first, he has so many other emotions and conflicting issues in his life to deal with.

But gradually he realizes that this inner self Chris has opened up for him is actually who he really is.

* * *

Edward can see well enough that Chris could pick up whoever he wants, pretty much; just look at him. He's good looking - the sight of him in those biking leathers alone is worth just about anything. He's nice, one of the nicest people Edward has ever met. And successful, running a number of business enterprises. Wealthy enough to have his own house custom-built.

Hot, personable and well-off. How has Chris never had a serious relationship before?

"I work too hard," Chris jokes when Edward tries to probe. Chris does work hard, Edward can see. Chris doesn't do the solid office hours that Edward does, but he's constantly aware of issues across his various bars, restaurants and the club. He stays in close touch with their managers, solving problems, anticipating situations.

"Can't be just that," Edward says.

Chris shrugs. "I never really thought about it..." He turns serious. "I never met anyone before who I even thought about living with. I hardly ever took anyone home, even. Didn't really have a home, anyway... not until I had the house built."

"And how did you afford to have the house built?" Edward is nosy. He knows what Chris must have paid, almost to the penny. A plot of land right on the shore and a custom-built house on it does not come cheap. Edward also knows that Chris doesn't have large loans or a mortgage on it.

Chris grins. "I had a windfall. I owned a small diner, miles away, on a big junction near the freeway. A multi-national corporation decided they wanted to built a drive-thru restaurant on the junction. They easily bought all the other small stores there out. I held out for a while, until their offer was a lot more than the place was worth."

"And it paid for the house." Edward is fascinated.

Chris nods. "I was lucky. I was in the right place at the right time."

This is true, but Edward thinks Chris makes a lot of his own luck, too.

* * *

 

_Year 2_

Edward revels in having built their house. Chris so obviously loves it, and sometimes Edward feels he owes Chris everything. For taking him in, loving him, showing him what he actually wanted in life. The house feels like a small offering in return; a solid contribution to their relationship,.

Edward likes their house very much, but sees too many imperfections to love it the way Chris does. Edward finds himself occasionally annoyed that a room is slightly too small, has an awkward corner, that a doorway would have been much better placed a foot to the right. He remembers ruefully the plans he so carefully drew up, never dreaming he would live there himself.

He never tires of the sea and the sky from the windows. He knows Chris likes the view, finds the sea relaxes him, but Edward sees colors and patterns and designs that change with the weather, in a way that Chris doesn't seem to notice.

They are lying outside on the beach one summer evening, staring up at a clear sky speckled with stars, when Edward starts to point out constellations.

"That's Orion, the three stars in a row there are his belt... That's the Great Bear..."

He finds Chris is aware only of a random mass of white spots above, and delighted to learn more.

Edward knows that Chris thinks Edward is cleverer than him. Which is both flattering and patently absurd, because Chris is so much smarter than Edward in all ways that could possibly matter. Chris has more street smarts, more common sense, more useful knowledge, more of an instinct for getting on with people.

But Edward also knows that Chris never finished college, started a business degree but didn't complete it. It's not something Chris goes out of his way to mention, but it comes up in conversation after they've been together a while.

"The steakhouse came up for sale, really cheap after a fire burned out the building," Chris explains. "I couldn't pass it up, had to take the opportunity while I could, but couldn't afford it and college--in money and time. The place was just a shell, needed everything done to it. So I dropped out of college, two years in, and I never went back."

Edward thinks this explains the small chip on Chris's shoulder. It's not often apparent, and Edward thinks Chris is hardly aware of it himself, but it's there; a small sense of inferiority that Chris has been making up for ever since.

"You could go back," Edward suggests, thinking Chris is surely now much more time-rich and cash-rich than before. "Part time... you could fit classes around the restaurants and bars easily enough... you could probably get credit for what you did before, and for work experience. Maybe even get a grant, or a loan... Get the theory behind what you're already doing. And you could minor in something you're interested in and want to know more about--like physics, you could learn about astronomy--"

Chris is shaking his head. "No, I don't need it. What would I do with it now, anyway?"

Edward ponders for a moment. "Well, you could go on afterwards and do one of those MBA things." He knows a lot of Chris's business acquaintances have MBAs, see it as a badge that proves their management and leadership skills. Linus has one, too.

"Waste of time," Chris says with finality. "There's other things I'd rather be doing." And he pulls Edward in for a kiss.

Later that evening though, Edward catches Chris looking thoughtful, and hopes he's sowed a seed that might bear fruit at some point.

Some years afterwards, Chris gets round to enrolling in a nearby university with an accredited business school. He takes a class each semester, does classes and tests online. It's hard work and takes a long time, but at his eventual graduation, nobody's prouder than Edward.

"MBA next?" Edward teases him.

"Absolutely not," Chris says firmly, but there's a twinkle in his eye.

* * *

 

_Year 3_

__Edward is very fond of sitting in a corner in Chris's office at the club, watching the man at work. Chris looks completely at home there, absorbed in reports or accounts or some such paperwork, settled in his old large leather desk chair, a cigarette smoking itself out in the large glass ashtray, books and files piled around. And the casting couch on one side, of course.

Edward quickly gets to know the managers and staff at Chris's bars and clubs, and finds them uniformly loyal to Chris while occasionally exasperated at him for interfering.

The person who Chris relies on more than anyone is Bob, the manager of the club. Bob is taciturn by nature but he warms quickly to Edward, and they have some comfortable chats on various occasions long late into the night. Bob tells him how Chris had managed the club himself for two years after he'd bought it, and found it hard to let go.

"Even though it was killing him. Full time job in itself and yet he had the steakhouse, a diner and the roadside bar at that time to look after as well. He interviewed lots of managers, couldn't find anyone he liked, he was going nuts..."

"And then you walked in?" Edward asks.

"And then I walked in," Bob agrees. "He took me on trial for a month. It was obvious he wasn't going to let go just like that, so I locked him in his office on the first night. He threw a fit when he realized he couldn't get out, nearly bust a gut, but then he found things were still running okay without him."

Edward loves this story, adores imagining Bob turning the key on Chris, Chris banging on the door and forced to simmer inside.

"Even after I got him to lay off a bit, take a step back, he still tried to bartend himself for ages, if he thought it was busy. Or if he was bored. The times I had to remind him, this is not your job any more!" Bob shakes his head in exasperation, and then says unexpectedly, "You're a good influence on him."

Edward is surprised but pleased. "How do you mean?"

Bob sips his soda and thinks for a minute. "You've steadied him. He was always responsible in business, but such a player in his private life, and that did get in the way sometimes. And Linus encouraging him--Linus is a good guy, don't get me wrong, but he and Chris were such a bad influence on each other."

Edward wants to hear more about this. Bob prevaricates, and eventually says, "Well, it only took a pretty boy walking into the room to turn their heads. Linus would say 'Heads or tails?' and they'd pick which of them was going to approach on the flip of a coin. And then they'd flip again, and this time it meant whether they were going to try and get given head, or get some tail, if you know what I mean... They don't do that any more."

Edward is amused, and can't help but remark, "Although a pretty boy walking in the room still _does_ turn Chris's head..."

"Yeah, but it's not the same," Bob is definite. "You come first." Pause. "No pun intended."

* * *

_Year 4  
_  
Sometimes Edward wonders if they could just not fuck anyone else, ever. After all, months at a time can go by, and they're both perfectly content and cozy with each other in bed, night after night.

But then a pretty dark haired boy makes a pass at Chris in the club, or a smiling blond guy appears at Edward's side at the bar, and abstract thoughts of monogamy are forgotten when up close against warm flesh and blood.

They only go with other men when the other's willing, either to watch or to participate. They go through brief intense phases where an evening doesn't seem complete without a close encounter with someone else's cock, someone else's ass. It's as likely to be one of them as the other who suggests it; Chris is more susceptible to impish charm from a pair of brown eyes and a tight pair of jeans, but Edward is more inclined to see someone unusual and think, _that could be hot_.

"Chris, look at him." Nods towards a lanky guy talking loudly in the middle of a crowd. "He'd be up for it..."

"Really?" Chris, dubious.

"Oh yeah. Trust me."

And Chris does, and when they both go in for the kill together it's always the most tremendous turn-on. Edward is usually hard before either of them even says or does a thing.  
Sometimes they miscalculate, and this does cause problems. Chris ass-fucks a new bright young thing in the club one night, only to have the bright young thing start hanging around them, proclaiming eternal undying passion for Chris. No amount of apologetic let-downs from Chris or quiet warnings to lay off from Edward seem to have any impact. A month later the bright young thing discovers a new object for his affections, and the relief for both of them is palpable.

Another time they are at a poolside party held by a friend of theirs some miles away, where Edward is chatted up by a tall, intense guy with a stud in his tongue. Edward goes along with it initially, thinking a blow job with that tongue stud could be _really_ hot, until the guy unexpectedly suggests they leave the party. "And ditch the boyfriend."

"Uh, no." Edward is firm. "Chris stays. Or, no deal."

"What the hell is this, some little game the two of you play?" The guy is indignant.

"It's just how it is. Sorry, I didn't mean to mislead you--"

"You can take your apology and shove it up your ass. I don't appreciate being used for your boyfriend's sick entertainment." The guy reaches out and gives Edward a shove, pushing him squarely in the middle of his chest. Edward keeps his feet but staggers back slightly. Chris, on the other side of the pool talking to someone else, sees this and is over in a flash.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Chris demands.

"Your prick-tease slut of a boyfriend thinks he can have fun at my expense," the guy shouts, and Chris pulls back his fist and throws a punch without hesitation.

Tongue-stud guys ducks, tries a left hook in return, Chris grabs his arm and they grapple for a moment before tongue-stud guy manages to push Chris towards the pool. Chris hooks a grasp on the guy's sleeve at the last minute, and they both fall into the pool together.

The shock of the water sends them splashing apart, and other people are quickly there, separating them. Tongue-stud guy is shouting angrily, and Chris and Edward leave quickly, Chris dripping chlorinated water all over the car through the journey home.

Chris calms down enough half-way home to make light of it. "Okay, lay off men with tongue-studs in future, however hot they are, they're clearly nothing but trouble."

Edward laughs a little, and resolves to be more careful in future.

* * *

 

_Year 5_

__The other reason it couldn't work, if they decided not to fuck anyone else ever, is that Edward would never want to shut out Linus. Edward adores Linus. The two of them have a spark in bed together, no doubt about it, but it isn't just that. Linus is a big man with a big heart. He has room for everyone, in his house, in his life, in his bed. And Edward appreciates the way Linus looks out for Chris, and vice versa, the two of them always so comfortable with each other.

Edward is a little more cautious about Linus's stray cats, especially when Chris takes a fancy to them. Sometimes Edward finds himself a little jealous, sometimes really quite jealous indeed, but he does his best not to show it. They are no threat, after all; they never stay that long, and they invariably dote on Linus. And sometimes it's Edward who takes a fancy to them, and Chris never seems to mind one bit.

But the stray cat Edward remembers best is Jeremy, and neither he nor Chris ever had a sexual encounter with Jeremy at all.

Chris and Edward are round at Linus's house watching a movie one evening when there's a crash from overhead.

"Someone else here, Linus?" Chris says in surprise.

Linus excuses himself. Edward pauses the video to await his return. When he hasn't returned five minutes later, Chris speculates idly that it could be a burglar, and although neither of them believe that, Edward gets up and heads upstairs to see what's happening.

He finds the main guest bedroom door open, and peeks in, to find a very young man sitting hunched up in the corner of the bed, head down, arms hugging his knees. Linus is sitting close with a hand on his shoulder. The young man is shaking from head to foot. An upturned chair nearby is the obvious source of the crash.

Edward is about to slip away, but Linus sees him and motions him to come in.

"Edward, I would like you to meet Jeremy, he's staying with me for a while," Linus says, his voice quiet. "Jeremy, this is Edward, a good friend of mine."

Jeremy looks up through large brown bloodshot eyes and nods a little. He has a cute button nose and pale skin. His lower lip is trembling.

Edward says gently, "Hey, Jeremy."

"You and Chris carry on with the movie, I'll be down in a while," Linus says, and Edward nods and heads downstairs again.

They've finished the movie by the time Linus rejoins them half an hour later, plumping himself down on the couch and reaching for his glass of wine. They look at him inquiringly.

"So. Jeremy?" Chris asks, raising an eyebrow. "What's the story?"

"Jeremy's parents sent him to anti-gay boot camp," Linus says, his voice absolutely flat. "For what I believe the polite term is _conversion therapy_. Not that there's any reason to be polite about it. He managed to run away and he's desperate not to go back there, or home."

Chris wrinkles his nose and Edward asks, "What does conversion therapy mean?"

"It means a bunch of intolerant zealots have made him feel even guiltier, ashamed and depressed about himself than he already was. The fuckers gave him electroshock treatment. I ask you." The normally beaming, placid Linus is dark with anger. "He's seventeen."

"Fuck," Chris says with sympathy.

_Seventeen_. Edward thinks of himself at seventeen. Wide-eyed, confused, vulnerable. Edward wonders if his parents would have sent him to anti-gay boot camp if they'd known.

He doesn't think so, but just the idea, that any parent would do such a thing, fundamentally disturbs him.

* * *

Jeremy stays with Linus for several months. He doesn't go out for a long time, but they sometimes see him when they visit Linus. Jeremy seems to find Chris a little threatening, but Edward manages a few light conversations, and after a while Jeremy relaxes in his company and starts to regard him as a friend.

One day Edward spies tell-tale scars on Jeremy's wrists. One set looks old, Jeremy confides they're from two years ago. The other set are healed but fairly recent red welts, Jeremy says they're from just before his parents sent him to the boot camp. Edward wonders how Jeremy's parents can possibly have thought the boot camp could help their troubled, suicidal, son.

Edward talks a bit about himself and Chris, feeling that Jeremy needs role model male/male relationships in his life. Edward then promptly discovers that he is fact an appalling role model, as he has to admit he's married.

Jeremy is amazed. "Did you not always _know_ you liked men? When you were my age, I mean?"

"No," Edward confesses.

He knows that both Chris and Linus had always enjoyed fundamental certainty about their sexuality, never doubted or queried for a second, and both had been fortunate enough to be able to live their lives the way they'd wanted from the start.

Edward had been clueless by comparison. He'd dated girls in high school because that's what everyone else had been doing. At the same time he'd found himself having occasional confused fumbles with boys, and never dared let on about the latter to his family. He'd waited until going away to college to explore that side of himself, and ended up with Preston.

Another day, another conversation, Edward remarks what a great guy Linus is and Jeremy agrees.

"I'd do anything for him," Jeremy says with wonderment in his voice. "But he won't let me. He hasn't laid a finger on me, you know."

Edward is surprised. No, _amazed_. He's assumed, and he's sure Chris assumes too, that Linus is getting immense sexual satisfaction from his cute seventeen year old protege. "Really?"

Jeremy nods vigorously. "Really. I offered. I mean, I thought that was why he picked me up. He found me at a gas station rest stop, I'd run away from the boot camp and had this idea I had to get to a big city and disappear. So I was trying to hitch to New York, and not having much luck, thought I'd try and turn a trick instead--I didn't have any money. I had to leave without so much as a cent in my pocket. And I saw this guy with a big belly and a big fancy car." Jeremy pauses. "But he took one look at me--I was exhausted and cold and dirty, and starving, I'd been traveling for two days--and said, _I think you need a bed for the night._"

Edward is fascinated.

"And he bought me a hot dog at the gas station, then took me to his home. And he put me to bed, and I was waiting for him to get in too. He could have fucked me all night, I wouldn't have minded. But he just wished me good night and left," Jeremy marvels. "I couldn't believe it. It was like I'd found my fairy godmother, and he turned out to be a fat old queen with a heart of gold. I've been telling him ever since that he can fuck me if he likes, but he just shakes his head and laughs and says I shouldn't tempt him."

Linus doesn't want to take advantage of this vulnerable kid. Edward understands completely, and knowing that Linus will undoubtedly be strongly attracted to Jeremy's youth and cute good looks and tight little ass (yes, Edward has noticed too), has all the more respect for this self-denial.

* * *

Edward tells Chris what Jeremy told him, and finds Chris surprised, but not as surprised as Edward had thought.

"He's got reason to be careful, he's pulled shit like this before," Chris says laconically. "He nearly got in trouble once. Long time ago, he gave sanctuary to a runaway whose father turned up shouting and swearing and waving a gun. Blasted a hole through Linus's living room ceiling. The kid swore up and down that Linus hadn't touched him, which was just as well as it turned out the kid had lied about his age... wasn't even sixteen..."

"Fuck."

"Yeah." Chris yawns and stretches. "Anyway it's only a matter of time. Once Linus is sure that Jeremy really _is _old enough, and knows what he actually wants... he'll be on him in a moment."

Edward is sure this is right.

* * *

Eventually Jeremy is confident and well enough to make the move to the big city he wanted, to New York. He's also now turned eighteen, which is helpful. Linus uses contacts to help him get a job and a room in a shared house to rent.

A few months later, Edward is in New York for an architectural seminar, and drops by Jeremy's place. He finds Jeremy smiling and cheerful. Jeremy's room is small, the furniture's shabby, and he has to share the bathroom and kitchen, but it's his own space and he's clearly very proud of it. He makes a point of telling Edward that although Linus loaned him the deposit, he can afford the rent and other living expenses on his own.

"And it is just great living in New York," Jeremy enthuses. "I'm meeting so many interesting people. There was this gorgeous guy I met in a bar last weekend, he had the most awesome tattoo of a tiger all over his back, with a tail right down to his ass..."

Edward is delighted to find Jeremy happy and finally able to live his own life the way he wants.

"You see much of Linus?" Edward asks. He knows Linus regularly has business meetings in the city.

"Yeah, he comes and visits me whenever he's in town." Jeremy's eyes are bright and clear. "And stays over, know what I mean?"

Edward sees the gleam in Jeremy's eye, glances around the tiny room with the double bed, and he does know what Jeremy means. Linus had been waiting for Jeremy to obtain some small measure of independence first, and they'd gotten there at last.

* * *

When he next bumps into Linus, Edward tells him he's seen Jeremy, and says, "That was a great thing you did, setting him up in his own place like that."

To his surprise, Linus grimaces, and says, "I'm glad you see it like that, Edward. Not everyone does."

"Oh?" Edward is surprised.

"The landlord of that building he's living in, for a start," Linus explains. "He thinks I'm a pervert who's groomed my teenage twink for a city love nest."

This is so very far from how Edward sees it that he gapes, rendered temporarily speechless.

"Of course, there's an element of truth in that," Linus carries on with a glint of humor now. "You know how cute dear Jeremy is. But," and now Linus is serious, "I've told Jeremy that he owes me nothing, and if he wants me out of his life then I'm gone, no hard feelings."

"I don't think he wants you gone anytime soon," Edward says.

"Well, that's nice to hear," Linus grins, and winks. "'Cause I can't get enough of that eighteen-year-old ass anytime soon, either. _Well _worth the wait."


	12. Decadence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward continues to reflect on his life with Chris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning:** Not that much sex in this part, sorry!

_Year 6  
_  
Edward feels he's very lucky in his work, and in his work colleagues. It's a small office but part of a much bigger company. He has opportunities to work on a wide range of buildings throughout New Jersey, and beyond.

At his previous workplace he'd suffered much hostility after leaving Claudia for Chris. So he decides when he starts his new job that he won't lie about Chris, but he will be discreet. He won't bring his tall fair handsome boyfriend up in conversation unless asked.

As it turns out, he's there less than two weeks before one of his female colleagues asks with a smile during a coffee break, "So Edward, we're all dying to know, have you got a girlfriend?"

"No, I don't," Edward says, and realizes the moment has come. "I've got a--partner. His name's Chris, we live in a house down by the shore."

The woman who asked the question is rendered silent, and nobody else standing around the kitchenette says anything either. Edward walks on eggshells for the next few days, fearing questions or comments that might be hostile, even abusive. But there's nothing, although Edward is sure that the gossip has gone round the office like wildfire.

A week later, he's musing over the photocopier when he overhears a conversation about an upcoming project between colleagues in a cubicle nearby. A man says, "Yes, and I'll be working with Edward, the new guy."

Another man, who Edward knows is called John, snorts, and says, "You know he's a queer. You'd better watch your back, no dropping the soap in the shower."

Edward's heart sinks and he stays very still.

But another voice chimes in, female, sharp; "I find that offensive. You watch your language, or I'll make a complaint."

"Hey, no need for that. Just making a joke--"

"Not funny."

And Hostile John has to back off. Edward is relieved but still cautious. His female supporter, he later finds out, is Shirley, the office administrator.

At first he thinks she doesn't like him. He's always creating extra work for her with his own clumsiness and carelessness with dates and schedules. She's short-tempered and abrasive. He gradually realizes that she's like that with everyone, and in fact the sharper and more irritated she gets with someone, the more she actually likes them.

And Shirley is an ally worth having. She's the one absolutely indispensable person in the office; incredibly reliable, unflappable, unsackable. None of the junior architects have their own secretary, they all rely on Shirley for admin as far as they can, and if she wants to she can make their lives much easier. Or she can make them very difficult. He notices that Hostile John has a hard time with her from this point on.

* * *

Edward avoids bringing Chris to work social events and talks about his private life as little as he can get away with, but despite this--or perhaps because of it--finds some of his work colleagues are curious.

One day Edward's car is in for repairs, so Chris is picking Edward up after work. Peering out of the window, Edward sees Chris arrive on the Harley and wait down the end of the parking lot as instructed. Then he finds a couple of his female colleagues determinedly follow him out of the door and down the parking lot, ignoring his attempts to bid them goodnight. They arrive with him at the motorbike.

Chris, straddling the bike, helmet resting on the handlebars, raises his eyebrows as they approach. He looks superb, clad in black leather pants, brown leather jacket and chunky boots.

"You must be Chris," says one of the women, and they stand and chat with him for a few minutes. Chris is effortlessly charming as Edward, blushing slightly, climbs on the back of the bike. As Chris starts the engine, Edward puts his arms tentatively around Chris's waist.

"You're gonna need to hold on a bit tighter than that," Chris teases him, and remarks as an aside to the women, "That's my excuse, anyway."

As they drive away, the women are smiling and nudging each other. The following day one of them says to Edward, "Chris is gorgeous, and such a nice guy too. Edward, you're so lucky."

Her friend sighs and asks rhetorically, "Why are all the cute ones always gay?"

* * *

It's not until he's been with Chris six years, and in his job for five years, that the head of the office comes out of an important meeting beaming and says, "Edward, I hope you're bringing your significant other to the awards night."

Edward is one of three architects who worked on a building nominated for a big architectural award. The ceremony is a big black tie do to be held in Philadelphia the following week. The invite is for him plus one, but Edward isn't intending to bring Chris.

The boss carries on, "What's his name--Chris, right? My wife's very keen to meet him."

Edward is fairly alarmed by this curiosity, but on reflection, decides that this is an order rather than a suggestion. He asks Chris if he'd mind coming.

Chris is only too pleased. "Any excuse to see you in the penguin suit."

The evening of the awards, they're staying in a hotel, getting ready. Edward gets fully dressed in his tux tails, then walks into the bathroom, where Chris is shaving. He watches Chris's eyes in the mirror soften into gray clouds of desire. Chris rinses and dries his face swiftly, turns and is across the room groping at Edward's shirt front within seconds.

"Afterwards," Edward admonishes, stroking Chris's smooth chin. "And behave yourself. Shouldn't you be changed by now?"

Chris fingers Edward's bow tie. "Afterwards...I'm holding you to that promise."

Chris emerges in his own tux shortly afterwards. Edward thinks Chris looks mighty fine dressed up too, very classically handsome and debonair.

They sit at a table with Edward's work colleagues, and sip wine while various other awards are given out. They clap nominees and winners dutifully, and Chris chats easily to the bosses wife.

Eventually their award comes up, and they've won. The two other architects who worked on the project with Edward leap to their feet; the woman kissing her husband, the man kissing his girlfriend. And Edward, delighted and caught up in the moment, seizes Chris and kisses him too. Right there with everyone looking at them and clapping.

Edward goes on the stage with the others to collect the award, cheeks flushed pink, and proud for more than one reason.

* * *

 

_Year 7  
_  
His parents are much more difficult than his work colleagues.

His sister Eleanor seems to reconcile herself to Chris, very slowly. She still insists on calling him "your roommate," and Edward tries to correct her, but truth is, he doesn't mind. Roommate, boyfriend, partner, so what. If she's willing to accept that Chris exists and is the most important person in his life, then that's good enough.

Edward long ago decided that he would cut himself off from his family for Chris, if necessary, but so far he's been spared that decision. Ellie's hung on in there, and his parents have stayed aloof but in sporadic contact, apparently hoping he would come through this phase.

He's been in a relationship with Chris for more than seven years before they seem to have realized that this phase isn't about to end after all, and they had better face it. Mom calls unexpectedly to say she and Dad are taking a trip to New York to visit Ellie, would like to come on to New Jersey to see him and to meet Chris. Perhaps they could do lunch?...

Edward panics solidly for a week beforehand. Chris is calm and solid, although Edward suspects he is putting on a brave front for both their sakes.

"You know," Chris says the night before, "I've never actually done the meet-the-boyfriend's-parents thing before. What do I wear?"

"Anything you want. They're probably expecting us to turn up in bondage gear."

"Ah, well, that would be interesting." Chris ruffles Edward's hair. "You can wear those leather shorts and the collar. Weren't we saving that for a special occasion?"

He's joking, and it makes Edward laugh. "Yeah, right. Let's confirm their worst fears."

Chris grins but then his expression turns serious. "I don't mind playing vanilla for them, but I'm not denying or hiding anything. And I am _not _sitting through any homophobic shit."

"I'm not asking you to," Edward is quick to say.

They meet for a big family lunch in Chris's steakhouse. Chris is dressed entirely conventionally in a thick cotton button-down shirt and smart-casual pants. Edward is a little more casual in smart black jeans. It goes... not too badly. Ellie has come along too, which is enormously helpful for conversation. None of his family says anything too outrageously intolerant, for which Edward is grateful. He really doesn't want Chris to lose his temper.

The steakhouse has a mainly mainstream clientele at lunchtime, so nothing too embarrassing is going on around them. The food is great and the service is absolutely perfect. The manager and waiting staff know the situation, and Edward thinks they are almost as nervous about the meeting as he and Chris are.

Mom and Dad are visibly impressed to find out that Chris owns the restaurant they're eating in. Chris can play the respectable pillar of local business enterprise if he wants, and he does. They converse about the state of the economy, profit margins, staffing levels.

His parents were never going to reach out and clasp Chris to the family bosom (and Edward thinks Chris doesn't want that anyway). But they seem to get to the same strained, cautious point of toleration as Ellie, which is good.

At the end of the meal, they're discussing the various buildings Edward has designed over the years, and Mom says unexpectedly, "And you built the house you live in, didn't you? I'd like to see it. I thought maybe we could visit after lunch, we've got a bit of time before we have to start back."

There's a short silence. Edward opens his mouth to say _no, can't, sorry_, because this feels like too much, pushing their luck too far.

But Chris interjects smoothly, "Sure, why not come back to our place for coffee?"

Edward feels his cheeks turn crimson, and Dad's not looking eager, either. But Ellie's looking enthusiastic, saying she'd like to see where they live too, and before he knows it, he and Chris are driving back home, and his family are following in Ellie's car behind.

"Relax," Chris says. He's driving, and he's sober; Edward feels a little woozy from wine at lunch. "What can happen over coffee? We left the place tidy, isn't it?" Chris grins. "Afraid they're gonna find a dildo behind the couch cushions?"

"Uh, yeah." It's silly and Edward knows it.

Chris turns thoughtful suddenly. "Hey, do you remember that time we came home from the mall and Linus and Ravi were outside, waiting for us?"

"Fuck." Edward does remember. Ravi had been sunbathing by their pool, completely naked apart from a tiny hand towel resting on his groin, which really hadn't covered anything more than the absolute minimum to avoid sunburn in a painful place.

"That's not going to happen now. Linus is away this weekend," Chris says, but Edward notices him put his foot down a little harder on the accelerator.

There are no naked men sunbathing outside when they get home. Nor are any dildos discovered under cushions. Edward does have to endure taking Mom and Ellie on a guided tour, during which it is only too apparent that they never use their guest bedroom.

"Wow," Ellie says indiscreetly. "You really do share the same bed."

"Ellie!" Mom admonishes, and Edward is glad Dad is outside talking to Chris about roof tiles.

Chris makes coffee, which is always top notch. They manage decent conversation about the sea views and the beach, barbecue and pool while they drink it. Afterwards Chris takes the cups back into the kitchen, and Edward follows, stretched almost to breaking point now, but glad knowing it's almost over.

"Thanks," Edward says, as Chris puts the cups down by the sink and turns towards him.

"Edward." Chris pulls Edward towards him and breathes gently into his hair. "Edward, sweetie... You're tense...."

The use of a pet name is rare, very rare indeed. Edward melts a little more into Chris's arms. Chris nuzzles his forehead and Edward looks up, and Chris kisses his way down Edward's face. When he gets to Edward's chin, Edward throws his head back and Chris runs a tongue down his neck, skating across his Adam's apple.

"Just wait 'til they're gone and I'll fuck all that tension out of you," Chris says, and his voice is husky and just a little louder than strictly necessary.

Later Edward accuses Chris of knowing Mom was standing in the doorway at that moment.

Chris grins and doesn't deny it, merely saying, "I'm not having them thinking this is some kind of emasculated celibate roommate relationship. I _want_ them to know we fuck."

"_Nobody_ wants their parents to know they fuck!" Edward shouts.

But no harm seems to have been done. Mom and Dad stay distant, but in touch. Edward thinks this is as good as he can hope for.

* * *

 

_Year 8_

Early on in their relationship, Edward is frightened of Chris's quick temper. He's not frightened for himself; he's scared for Chris, unnerved at how fast Chris can go from vague annoyance to explosive fury. It can't be good for him to get so angry, it must be terrible to get so stressed. Naturally conciliatory and even-tempered himself, Edward finds it hard to understand how small things like a jar falling off a table and breaking can make Chris so angry. Even if there is jelly all over the kitchen floor. And even though it turns out a floor tile got cracked.

After a while Edward learns that the temper goes as swiftly as it comes. Also, once Chris realizes it scares him, Edward notices that Chris makes a big effort to control it, to tone it down.

Edward is never scared for himself. He knows from the start that Chris would never deliberately hurt him, never hit him, never want to cause him pain. However frantic and intense the sex gets, even when they're straining and gasping and nipping at each other in bed, and Chris's cock is pounding inside him with every bit of strength he can summon, it's never like it was with Preston.

Preston had _liked _hurting him, hearing him gasp and cry _stop, please, stop. _Edward remembers his time with Preston with confused bitterness. He would never admit this to Chris, but it hadn't all been bad. There had been reasons he'd loved the guy, after all... Preston is a bastard, sure, but Edward knows him to be more vulnerable, more complicated in private than in public.

Like for example Pres had always been an aggressive top if anyone else was around, but alone with Edward he'd sometimes chosen to bottom. Edward remembered some long hours with Preston spreadeagled on the bed, muttering, _"Screw me down and fill me up, Eddie boy,"_ grinding himself to climax against the mattress as Edward fucked him slowly from above.

Chris likes to top, too, but he's not aggressive about it. Edward thinks that Chris has simply gotten in the habit of topping after all his previous years of casual sex with bottom boys at the club, who expect Chris to exercise his authority by topping, and get a kick out of being screwed by the owner. Edward observes that Chris does still tend to top with anyone else; but with Edward, he's willing to switch.

* * *

Edward frequently fights off jealousy over men in Chris's life; stray cats, occasional flings, Brandon at the bar.

Chris is the opposite; he is not the jealous type. Protective, sure; Edward knows Chris will be there ready to come to blows over him at the slightest hint of trouble, and fight to the death if necessary. But he's easy-going over other men, always gives Edward a longer rein than Edward is willing to grant him. For example, Chris never utters a word or vibe of reproach about Edward's escapades in Florida. Edward supposes it's because Chris is so much more self-confident and secure than he is himself.

In fact Edward can only recall two occasions where he really notices Chris get jealous; over Preston, of course, and briefly, over Harry.

After many years of being the only gay man in his office (uncloseted, anyway; Edward has his own idea about Hostile John) the dynamic changes. A new guy arrives, and Edward is pleased to find Harry chatting willingly and openly about past boyfriends and asking him where the gay bars in the vicinity are.

There's no sense of attraction at all, but when Edward describes Harry to Chris as _young, fresh out of college, very keen, full of new ideas_, he can almost see antenna rising. Sure enough, Chris's response is, "Oh yeah? Is he cute?"

"I didn't really notice," Edward says airily, and can see this does nothing to dispel Chris's suspicion.

Next day, Shirley tips Edward off that Chris called her to check if Edward had a clear afternoon schedule. So Edward isn't altogether surprised when Chris drops around ever so casually in the mid-afternoon. It's unusual for Chris to visit him at work, although not completely unheard of.

"I was just passing, thought you might want to break for coffee." Chris is nonchalant.

"Well, I guess so." Edward stands up, slinging his jacket over his shoulder.

Edward can see Chris casting his eye around the open-plan office, sweeping his gaze past empty desks and nodding at the odd face he recognizes, until he gets to the one he doesn't recognize; a young man sitting two desks along from Edward. Harry is trying not to stare; Chris immediately deliberately doesn't look at him either.

And then to Chris's obvious surprise, Edward flings an arm around Chris's shoulder, and says, "Hey, Chris, you won't have met the new boy, Harry. Harry—this is Chris." Edward pauses sightly, then adds in a droll tone, "My life partner."

Chris looks both pleased and vaguely embarrassed.

"Chris owns the club down by the beach I was telling you about," Edward goes on. "You should come down and see it sometime. Right, Chris?" He nudges Chris with an elbow.

"Uh, right," Chris agrees. "Um--shall we go?"

They head outside, Edward still with his arm around Chris's shoulders.

"Office romances are never a good idea," Chris declares, a little sheepish.

"Chris, I'm not remotely attracted to him," Edward says with mock exasperation.

Harry does turn up at the club that weekend. Edward spends some time chatting to him, careful to keep it platonic. He's pleased to see Harry leave in the company of a burly hirsute older man at the end of the evening.

* * *

 

_Year 9  
_  
In the summer Chris's fair hair turns a shade lighter, the sun bleaching it in uneven streaks which Edward loves. Edward notices this most when they're out in the boat. After many years of hiring boats Chris has finally managed to get a cabin cruiser of his own, kind of. He part-owns it, has a quarter share along with Linus and two of Linus's business acquaintances. It's the dream boat that Chris has always talked about but found too expensive before.

In the winter Chris dons heavy woolen pullovers with roll necks that Edward finds incredibly endearing. They're perfect for cuddling, for curling up on a big woolen rug in front of an open fire, like when they go skiing. They try and do that every year for at least a long weekend.

Chris is still a little cautious with both skiing and running several years after his broken ankle has healed. He doesn't take risks, stops before Edward does, apologizes for holding him back.

One day Edward is talking about the time he ran the New York marathon and Chris says, "You could run it again. Don't let me stop you..."

"No. Once was enough," Edward is sure. "I know I can do it, and that's the important thing."

* * *

They go on vacation together to Europe several times over the years. Edward always enjoys it although he doesn't like Europe as much as Chris does. Edward isn't a great traveler, isn't that comfortable in places where he can't speak the language.

England is OK though, as the language barrier isn't such a problem (although not completely absent). Edward likes London a lot. He buys a fat guidebook about London architecture, and knows he drives Chris to despair with detours to see different types of building. He makes Chris look above the standard shop fronts to art deco stonework and soaring windows above; he pulls Chris down side streets to view tiny churches squatting in the midst of modern office blocks.

Edward likes Scotland, too. They travel out to the Highlands and Islands, on a quest to visit ever more remote distilleries. Edward has never quite tasted the difference between a single malt from one bog to another five miles down the road, but he's willing to humor Chris. He leaves Chris frowning and swilling minute amounts of whisky around tiny glasses, and goes out to look at the broad skies and blue lochs.

One day they go walking on a tiny island. It's inhabited apparently only by sheep and the ferryman who takes them over. They have lunch atop a green hill, sitting on a large boulder, with a marvelous view over the loch below.

"We could be the only people alive in the world," Edward says.

Chris nibbles his earlobe. "Well, if we were... what would we do?"

A few minute later Edward is on his knees spreadeagled across the boulder, feeling Chris's chin warm and bristly against the back of his neck, Chris's cock easing up inside him, Chris's hand reached around grasping his own cock. Edward presses his forehead against the hard rock and covers Chris's fist with his own, pumping himself to ecstatic climax as Chris comes inside him.

Edward gasps fresh air, hears birds tweet in the background, and hopes the nearby sheep aren't too traumatized by what they've seen.

* * *

 

_Year 10_

Sometimes Edward tries to imagine life without Chris, and the prospect is just so horrendous that he feels as if he's sliced a huge piece of his stomach away, leaving him raw and bloody and incomplete.

If Edward could change one thing about Chris, he would stop Chris smoking. Edward has no objection to cigarette smoke, actually, doesn't mind the smell or taste. But he hates seeing Chris short of breath while running, and coughing up his lungs, especially in cold weather.

Edward doesn't like to nag, though, and knows that he can't ask Chris to do something he doesn't think Chris would be able to do. So he bears it and says nothing. He then finds Chris senses his disquiet anyway, and tries to cut back on his own.

If there was one thing Edward would change about himself if he could, he would strike his marriage from history. Frankly, smoking is nothing compared to _that _mistake.

What really makes Edward despair about his marriage isn't that he got married in the first place (stupid decision as it was) or that it had been Claudia (bad decision as _that _was). What really keeps him awake at nights is that he can't extricate himself from it. He wishes a thousand times that they'd got married in New Jersey and not in New York. He can't get a no-fault divorce, and Claudia isn't ever about to agree to a fault one.

He's tried everything with her. He meets her once a year or so to discuss finances and to try and change her mind. He's argued, reasoned, begged, pleaded. He's appealed to her romantic side (that failed dismally because she's too offended by his relationship with Chris to see it as romantic). He's even threatened to stop giving her money (that hasn't worked because she knows perfectly well he wouldn't go through with it).

"You know my reasons," she says these days, forestalling further argument.

He does know her reasons. Her pious public one about the sanctity of marriage; her main argument to him that she's trying to save him from himself; and her shameful private reason, that she can't admit defeat to Chris, who she hates more than anything in the world.

* * *

Edward and Chris have been together nearly ten years when Edward makes one last ditch attempt to ask Claudia for a divorce. He meets her at a cafe, and more or less begs her, promises her _anything_, any kind of settlement she wants...

"No." She won't even argue. "You know my reasons."

He can't shake her. He leaves quickly once he realizes, afraid he might actually burst into tears. Chris is waiting for Edward in the car. Edward's heart breaks at the sight of Chris's cautiously hopeful face which so swiftly turns to disappointment, and is then quickly concealed.

Chris turns gruff and reassuring. "Never mind. We knew she was unlikely to agree, didn't we. Fuck it, eh."

But Edward feels wretched, that yet again he's let Chris down.

Back home Edward feels the need to be on his own for a bit, and goes to sit in a deckchair way out on the beach, on wet sand where each time the tide comes in it laps around his ankles. He sits and watches the horizon, listens to the seagulls scream, feels the water soothing his feet.

After a while, he realizes that Chris has trudged out to join him, is standing awkwardly close by, his boots sinking into damp sand, hands in pockets.

"Hey," says Chris. "I've got a hypothetical question for you."

"What?" says Edward dully.

Unexpectedly Chris drops to his knees, sinking into the wet sand. "Will you marry me?"

"What?" Edward looks at him in surprise.

"Hypothetically, as the state of New Jersey doesn't allow it, not at the moment anyway. And you are married already." Chris grins wryly and shrugs. "OK, so it's not much of a proposal in the circumstances."

He reaches into his inside jacket pocket and produces a small box. Edward looks at it for a few seconds in disbelief, then opens it to find a large gold ring.

"Chris." Edward throws back his head and laughs. "This is... _awesome_. I love it." He plucks the ring from the box and slips it onto the third finger of his left hand. He hasn't worn a ring there for a very, very long time. "Of course I'd marry you. If I could."

"That's the important thing," Chris says simply.

Edward slides off the deckchair and joins Chris on his knees on the wet sand.

THE END

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually, it's not quite the end; there is one more part to go. But if you want a happy ending you may wish to stop here instead.


	13. Watching the World Fade Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a motorcycle accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning:** Major character death.

Edward walks into the bedroom and pauses at the door, admiring the sight of Chris asleep. Eyelashes tucked tight, fair hair tousled, one arm thrown upwards and curled around the pillow. It's nine AM, but Chris has never been a morning person, always the night owl. Edward has been up for a while, reading the paper, drinking coffee. He likes moving through the house when all is still and quiet, opening the window to hear seagulls and waves outside.

He slips off his spectacles, sheds his bathrobe and lies down beside Chris, pressing his nose against the back of Chris's neck, pushing all the hairs up the wrong way. Chris mumbles and moves away a little, but Edward follows, then slides a hand around his chest, hugging him close.

"Golf, remember?" he murmurs into Chris's ear.

Chris groans as he apparently remembers. They have planned to spend today, a Saturday, on the links. Edward has been asked to design a pavilion for a golf course. He wants to scope the competition elsewhere in New Jersey, and avoid all their mistakes.

They don't have to leave for a while, though. Edward nestles a little closer to Chris, pushing his semi-hard cock against Chris's back.

"Are you really thinking about golf?" Chris mumbles.

"Actually, no." Edward reaches up to stroke Chris's face; his fingertips graze slight overnight stubble. Then Edward nips the back of Chris's neck gently and Chris sighs a little. Edward's cock is snug against Chris's tailbone; Chris pushes back, and they lie like that for a while, rocking together.

Eventually Edward starts to push a little harder, upping the intensity. Chris squirms and turns his head to kiss Edward, keeping his body facing away. Edward grips Chris's bottom lip between his teeth and reaches around to feel Chris's hard-on through his boxer shorts. Chris hisses between his teeth as Edward cups his crotch with a deft hand, and juts his hips backwards against Edward's groin.

Clothes are clearly now superfluous, and they both take a few seconds to shed them. Sunlight gleams on Chris's hair as he pulls his undershirt over his head, and Edward admires the smooth hard lines of Chris's chest. He gropes in the nightstand drawer for lube, then moves to push Chris down onto his back, straddling him; Chris growls a little, but submits.

Edward slicks a little lube onto his cock, then lies on top of Chris, supporting himself on his arms, letting his cock skate gently against Chris's, and oh that feels really _good_. Chris has his eyes shut and his breath is quickening apace as they rub up against each other, slippery and getting more so every second.

"Lemme fuck you," Edward murmurs and Chris's eyelids flicker briefly as he nods.

Edward reaches down to grope Chris's ass, probing, relishing the feel of the muscle ring tensing and relaxing against his slick fingers. Chris is breathing very fast now, his face reddening, legs wide and cock flat up resting on his stomach, large and bulging. _Fucking beautiful_, Edward thinks, and eases in, and they both gasp simultaneously and start to move together. Up and down, Edward sweating now as he thrusts, groaning "_Chris_," glorying in being inside him; Chris's neck rolls from side to side, twisting as Edward goes deeper and deeper.

When close to climax Edward spares a hand to help Chris tug at his own cock, easing back a little and managing to hold off until he's sure Chris is almost there too. They both come with splendid simultaneous orgasm, Edward pumping hard, Chris jerking and gasping, "Edward, _yes_," and bucking his hips against Edward's body.

They lie there together for a while, joined in mutual exhausted exhilaration.

* * *

It is a pleasant morning out on the golf course when they eventually get there, the sun high overhead and a warm breeze keeping things cool. Neither Chris nor Edward are particularly fond of golf, indeed neither even own a set of clubs, but they both sometimes play with work colleagues, and are each capable of a half-decent game. Chris wins, mainly because Edward is concentrating more on the buildings in the background than keeping his eye on the ball, although Edward claims indignantly that his rental clubs were to blame.

They stroll back to the pavilion afterwards and Chris settles in the bar with a beer while Edward wanders around casting a critical eye over facilities and making notes. He's thinking of a ruined castle they saw in Scotland; battlements and ancient rusted cannons. It had a golf course adjacent, people with clubs and carts and caddies swiping at small white balls which arched high into the air, the castle picturesque behind.

He joins Chris and announces he is through working for that afternoon and will have a beer. They'd taken the Harley so Chris, the driver, switches to club soda.

They linger a while, snack on fries and onion rings by way of lunch, talk in a desultory sort of way about golf and beer and the work week ahead. Edward periodically slides into his own thoughts, half a mind busy designing his dream golf pavilion. He wonders if the client will go for a castle-inspired design. He doodles on a beer mat, etching black walls, drawbridges and battlements around anodyne slogans.

"Home?" Chris asks eventually, and Edward nods and pockets the beer mat.

On their way out they pass a woman standing at the desk talking to the receptionist, her voice loud and sharp, bordering on hysterical. "He collapsed out on the golf course. He needs an ambulance, I called 911, where is it?"

They linger, and Chris asks, "Can we help?"

"Not unless you're a doctor." The woman is tall with dark bobbed hair, her angular face drawn sharp with worry and panic. "There's something wrong with his leg…"

They shrug helplessly, and as there doesn't seem to be anything they can do, they leave. They head outside to the Harley. Edward pulls on the spare helmet and hops on behind Chris, his arms snug around Chris's waist.

He's thinking of castles in the air again as they drive away. He's still thinking of castles when he feels Chris brake suddenly, sharply--

* * *

* * *

* * *

Chris's mind was on the evening. He thought it would be nice to go out for dinner, the steakhouse maybe, or perhaps Thai? He continued to motor down the highway, and wondered if the club would have the new supply of Scotch in yet. Perhaps he'd drop by tomorrow--

_Fuck_! A car pulled out from a junction ahead, right in front of the bike. Chris hit the brakes hard and the bike squealed to a sharp stop, the wheels skidding sideways, the halt so abrupt that Chris felt his body start to rise as if to hurtle over the handlebars. He felt Edward's arms slip and wrench away, then Chris managed to regain his balance in the seat as an enormous truck thundered past them, just a foot away.

The car shot off ahead into the distance, but the truck slowed, pulled over. Giddy, Chris looked around for Edward, expecting him to be sitting or standing in the road behind, but… he wasn't there. Chris cast his gaze further around, and then froze at the sight of a body lying crumpled in the road a few feet away.

_"Shit!_ Shit, shit, shit!" A man, his face ashen white, came hurrying from the cab of the truck. "He fell right in front of me. I couldn't do a thing."

"What?" Chris felt the world swim around him as his brain tried to absorb what it was seeing. The body in the road was wearing leathers and a black helmet, just like Edward. And where was Edward, anyway?

And then realization hit like a body blow. The world faded away around him, and after that Chris couldn't remember anything for a while.

* * *

When his senses returned, he was lying down, and bright white lights dazzled as he opened his eyes. For a blissful second he didn't know where he might be, and then the image of Edward's broken body in the road returned with a vengeance. Panic engulfed him and he struggled to sit up.

"Chris!" A voice, loud in his ear, and thank God a familiar tone.

"Linus." Chris swallowed hard, looked around at his friend. "Linus, Edward--we were on the bike--"

"He's dead, Chris, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry." Linus's voice was clear but distant, and the grip he had on Chris's arm was firm.

"No, he can't be, he can't be…" Hysterical grief swam up into Chris's head and poured out of his eyes. "He can't.…"

And Linus pulled him into a hug, and Chris wept on Linus's shoulder with complete and utter abandon.

* * *

Edward had been killed on the spot, the instant the truck had hit his falling body. Chris had no memory at all of the immediate aftermath; it was as if his brain had overloaded and blown a fuse. He was told that he'd rushed to Edward's body, been violently sick, refused to move away when the ambulance turned up, and then blacked out in the road and been brought to hospital in the same ambulance.

The hospital staff had found an emergency contact card in his wallet which listed first Edward and then Linus. By a supreme stroke of luck Linus had been around to take the call, and had been a tower of strength to Chris ever since.

Chris went to see Edward's body in the morgue to formally identify him. It was both horrific and tragic; Edward laid out on the slab, looking amazingly normal really, his face without a scratch, his body concealed with a sheet.

"It's him," Chris whispered, his eyes dry because this wasn't Edward at all. It was an Edward-shaped shell, from which the essence of Edward had long gone.

* * *

There was a police investigation but fortunately with Ziggy's assistance, Chris was spared much aggravation. The former Detective-Lieutenant Bowie was now the local deputy police chief, after successive promotions. The accident had happened outside his jurisdiction but he made some calls, and the police officer who interviewed Chris was polite and sensitive.

It also helped that the incident had been partially caught on a traffic camera focused on a junction just ahead. Chris couldn't bear to watch the footage, but Linus viewed it with Ziggy and told Chris afterwards that it clearly showed the rogue car which had pulled straight out in front of Chris's motorbike, and Chris braking hard as the truck came up on the outside.

"Nothing you could have done." Linus was firm. "Nothing, you hear me? If you hadn't hit the brakes you'd have gone smack into the car, and then you'd have both died."

Chris heard, but didn't respond. Both of them dying didn't seem like such a bad option, frankly.

Chris subsequently met the truck driver, who was suffering from shock and trauma himself, and assured him quietly that he didn't blame him at all for Edward's death. In contrast, Chris did very much blame the rogue car, which had turned left from a junction where no left turns were allowed. But it had been reported stolen a few days before and there was no clue at all as to who had been driving it that day. It was later found abandoned. The police swept it thoroughly, and some forensic evidence was recovered, but there were no matches for it.

* * *

Linus drove Chris home from the hospital. Chris felt empty all the way. Back home, he walked in the kitchen door and a horrible awareness dawned; this wasn't _their _house anymore. Edward was present in every piece of wood, every tile, every dab of paint, and yet--Chris would be on his own here from now on. He paused, looking around.

"Would you like to come back to my place instead?" Linus asked, coming up from behind him.

Chris looked at his friend and shook his head mutely. He could already tell it was going to be tough living here, but at the same time he wasn't going to desert this house which was so much Edward's.

"Then would you like me to stay?" Linus asked, tentative now, and Chris was about to shake his head again when just for a second Chris saw an emotion flicker across Linus's face, something Linus wouldn't say aloud--_I loved him too_. And Chris thought of Linus going back to his big empty house, with no stray cats in residence at the moment, to face his own grief alone.

"Stay," Chris said gruffly, and nodded towards the spare room. And because he really _did _need to be on his own right then, he fled to his bedroom--no longer Edward's bedroom--and shut the door behind him.

* * *

Linus settled in and stayed with Chris for the next week. In the evenings they sat with beer and mindless TV; they didn't talk much but Chris nevertheless found Linus's presence comforting. During the day Linus busied himself with practical matters, which seemed to be his way of coping; doing his own work, making phone calls, going out to meetings; plus buying groceries and making it his mission to ensure Chris ate _something _three times a day, however token.

But there were some things Chris couldn't escape doing himself. The worst was breaking the news to Edward's family, which he did the first day back from the hospital. He made the call to Edward's parents first, knowing his first words, "It's Chris--," the very fact that it was him on the line and not Edward would tell them something was horribly amiss.

Edward's Mom and Dad were initially stunned, then increasingly upset. They weren't openly hostile to him, but they asked questions; Edward's father in particular had to know every detail about the accident; when, where, how? What had the police said, done? Chris came off the line knowing Edward's father would be straight on the phone to the authorities to check Chris's version of events. And the fact that he would find that Chris had done nothing wrong did not stop Chris from feeling guilty and wretched in the least. After all, Edward would never have been on a motorbike if it wasn't for Chris...

He tried to imagine what would have happened if he'd died and Edward had survived. Surely that would have been preferable. Edward would not have had to call any family, at least. Chris picked up the phone again immediately and called Edward's sister Eleanor, feeling she should hear the news direct from him. She was at first quiet and horrified, then gradually hysterical. He asked Ellie if she would tell Claudia (Chris really could not bring himself to call Edward's wife) and she said she would, then hung up abruptly.

Claudia phoned half an hour later, wanting details, sharp and accusing. He tried to explain what had happened.

"He was on your motorcycle, while you were driving?" Her voice rose in pitch and volume. "He would _never _have been on a motorcycle if it wasn't for you."

Chris's fist clenched around the telephone handset.

"I was afraid something like this would happen," Claudia carried on remorselessly. "May God have mercy on his soul. God gave him years to repent, and I gave him every chance, but he wouldn't take it. My poor Eddie; so _this _was his punishment--"

_"FUCK--YOU!"_ Chris bellowed down the line, heedless of niceties. He hurled the handset down to the floor and stamped on it, grinding metal and plastic below his foot, not caring what he was doing,

He then dropped to his knees on the floor, head in hands, shaking with grief and fury. He stayed there a long time.

* * *

Chris had never been particularly affected by anyone dying before. He couldn't remember a thing about his parents' death, when he'd been just six years old. His guardian had been ninety years old when she'd passed on peacefully, and his arrogant sixteen year old self had just seen it as the natural way of things.

He'd mourned a few friends over the years, of course. In fact when he'd been younger it had sometimes seemed as if an entire generation before him had been dying _en masse_ before their time, and he'd half expected the same fate. That hadn't happened, the deaths had slowed to a trickle; and yet Chris thought it had all given him a hard shell when it came to coping with death.

But he now found that actually, he'd just never been very emotionally invested in anyone who had died. Not until now.

_Everything _made him think of Edward. Books on shelves, music, pictures, clothes, furniture, food--ten years of shared history had given everything an Edward-resonance in Chris's mind. Sometimes he found himself thinking about something almost cheerfully, as if Edward might walk in the room any minute; and when realization struck, it came as a hammer blow to the heart.

He started looking through Edward's desk drawers the second day at home alone, and unexpectedly discovered three dried flower heads pressed rather inexpertly underneath a paperweight. Red roses. Chris immediately knew what they were; they were from the flowers he'd sent Edward all those years ago in Florida, when Edward had said _woo me._ He vaguely remembered Edward keeping the flowers at the time; had no idea Edward had preserved them carefully ever since.

Another day Chris was rooting through his own possessions and found among various small trinkets an old champagne cork. It took him a few minutes to remember; they'd had champagne the night of their first kiss, sitting out on the beach, planning how they would build this house. He'd kept the cork afterwards. Chris now put the cork in his pocket and carried it around with him everywhere, like a talisman, a comfort blanket. When thoughts and feelings of desolation threatened to overwhelm him, he clutched the cork and remembered Edward. Their closeness, their connection, happy memories he'd always have. It helped, a little.

* * *

Linus took charge of the funeral arrangements. He counted a funeral director among his numerous friendly business acquaintances, a guy called Geoff who Chris knew only very slightly. Linus and Geoff managed almost everything between them, and Chris found this a great relief.

"We need a photograph of Edward," Linus said one day. "For the funeral announcement in the paper. And we'll blow it up and put it in a nice big frame for the day, help everyone remember him the way you want..."

Chris had a lot of snapshots of Edward but most of them seemed to be vacation pictures of him standing next to buildings he'd admired. Eventually Chris found one he liked, a lot; it showed Edward clutching a newspaper to his chest and smiling self-consciously, his glasses slid a little way down his nose. He gave it to Linus, and decided he'd like to keep looking at it in future; he'd put it in the living room afterwards.

* * *

Chris missed the physical intimacy very badly indeed. The sex of course, but after so many years of having someone close at hand, sharing a bed, curled up alongside him on the couch in the evening, always there to hug, to kiss, to hold hands... suddenly, there was nobody. _Nothing_. And it was almost impossible to take in the fact that Edward never would be there again. Chris had no belief whatsoever in the afterlife but sometimes he found himself hoping, wishing really very hard, that there were such things as ghosts and Edward might magically appear beside him. It never happened.

"I'm going out," Linus said unexpectedly one evening. It was five days since Edward's death. "Perhaps I'll go to the club. You want to come?"

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Chris spoke from instinct. _The club. _He couldn't bear the idea of facing the sympathy and pity he'd get there. And fuck it, Linus was bound to try and set him up with someone, some dark-haired young man with a winsome smile. Chris couldn't imagine wanting to have sex with anyone else ever again; the thought made him fill with self-loathing. The fact that he knew rationally that this feeling wouldn't last only made him fill with even more self-loathing.

Linus looked a little hurt. "Fine. I only asked--"

"Don't fucking ask," Chris snapped. "Don't fucking ask ever again, all right?"

Linus shrugged and left.

Chris watched TV without having any idea what the program was, and eventually fell asleep on the couch, fully clothed. He woke the following morning to find the TV still on, and Linus not there. Chris staggered up, bleary eyed, and walked around the house; Linus obviously hadn't come home. Normally he would have thought nothing of such a thing--but now was not normal, and Chris had to fight an immediate tide of panic that swept up through his body and threatened to engulf him. What if something had happened to Linus? The mere idea of losing Linus on top of Edward was enough to make Chris start hyperventilating.

He forced himself to take deep breaths, calm down. This was truly ridiculous. Linus would have simply gone back to his own home. Chris put on shoes and a jacket and went outside. He immediately felt a little better for fresh air; he'd been indoors too much recently. He eyed the garage, where the Harley had been stashed; no, he wasn't going to ride that, wasn't sure if he could ever bring himself to ride it again.

Chris got in his car instead, and a fresh wave of panic shot through his body at the idea of driving again. He hadn't driven at all since the accident. His strong rational side won out; he had to drive again, he couldn't not drive forever more. He started the car engine with trembling fingers, and drove very carefully and slowly to Linus's house. He felt a great sense of relief at arriving there safely.

He knocked, and to his surprise the door was opened almost immediately by a tall young man Chris didn't recognize.

"Hey," the man said airily. Chris immediately placed him as either an arrogant stray cat, or possibly an expensive escort; probably the latter. "He's in the kitchen."

"Thanks." Chris moved into the hallway. The man shut the front door and moved off into the living room, humming merrily. Feeling that things had suddenly turned rather surreal, Chris headed for the kitchen where he found Linus sitting in a bathrobe, in front of a mug of coffee.

Chris noticed new deep lines engraved on his friend's forehead, and wondered how long they'd been there. He remembered how much Linus had always adored Edward, recalled how very fond Edward had always been of Linus. He sat down, and said, "I'm sorry. About last night."

Linus shrugged. "Don't worry about it."

Chris nodded towards the door. "And he is?..."

"Comfort, consolation, temporary reprieve from grief in the form of a damn fine ass," Linus said, looking down into the cup of coffee.

Chris stared down at the table and remembered dimly how things had been in the olden days, before he'd met Edward. The casual sex, the short-term relationships--it seemed so simple in retrospect. He found himself saying aloud, "It would have been better if I'd never met him. If we'd never met then Edward would still be alive, and I wouldn't hurt _so fucking much_\--all the time--"

"Chris!" Linus's voice cut sharply through the air. "Don't you dare think such a thing. You know how lucky you were to find Edward? Don't you know that I, and most other people, would give anything to have such a soulmate, even for a short time?"

Chris looked at Linus in surprise, taken aback by both his tone and his words.

"You had ten years together. Don't wish them away just because they ended like this. Nature is cruel. Red in tooth and claw," Linus concluded, his tone sliding into declamation, speaking more quietly but with no less force. "But much better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all."

* * *

The evening before the funeral, Edward's body was laid out at the funeral home for the visitation. At first Chris could hardly even bear to look at the casket and wondered if he could even stand to be there.

But then people started arriving, and instead of this being an ordeal, somehow Chris found it to be the most peculiar, unexpected comfort. In the ten years Edward had been in his life, everyone he knew had got to know and love Edward too, and here they all were. All the staff came from Chris's bars, restaurants and other establishments, and a fair few of the regular customers, too.

Bob had closed the club for the night. "As a mark of respect, and so all the staff could come," he explained. Chris shook his hand warmly, and Bob stayed throughout the viewing session, there alongside Linus, a constant, supportive presence.

A group of the regular poker players at the club arrived together and offered condolences, among them Ziggy. Chris asked Ziggy tentatively if there'd been any news on tracking down the driver of the stolen car that had caused the accident, but Ziggy just shook his head and said, "Sorry to say this, but don't count on it."

Brandon and Tony walked in together, both somber and quiet. Chris let himself be hugged by Brandon, and felt his lip start to tremble at the physical contact. He managed to keep himself together, and was helped by listening to Giuseppe lament Edward's loss loudly ("What will I do now, Chris, I relied on him to make sensible design decisions for you!") Chris also enjoyed hearing Donovan talk nostalgically about conversations he'd had with Edward about marathon running.

Some people had come a long way. The one who came furthest was Ravi, who Chris knew had flown in from California, where he'd been working. Chris was surprised and delighted when he walked in the door, wearing a black felt hat and big dark glasses with white rims.

"Ravi, great to see you." Chris was genuinely touched. "I didn't expect you..."

"My dear Chris, how could I stay away," Ravi exclaimed, and clasped Chris's hand between both of his own. "What a tragedy. What an absolute tragedy. He was so beautiful, so young..." He looked over at the casket. "Ah, Chris, there are no words."

Julio had come up from Florida, and batted away Chris's protests that he needn't have come, muttering that he had been meaning to make a trip to New Jersey for a while. "Just sorry this was the reason why."

Jeremy had traveled down from New York. He had always been closer to Edward than Chris, and it had been a while since Chris had seen him. Chris thought Jeremy still looked terribly young, although not as boyish as Chris remembered him. He arrived accompanied by a tall man with a head shaved to reveal a gigantic spider tattoo.

"Chris, I couldn't believe it when Linus told me." Jeremy stared at the casket. "I'm so sorry. I can't imagine how you must feel. Edward loved you so much, you now. He always talked so warmly of you."

"He was always fond of you," Chris mumbled.

"He was a good friend to me." Jeremy's eyes were brimming with tears. The tattoo man patted his back, pulled him close for an affectionate sympathetic hug.

* * *

A cluster of Edward's work colleagues arrived, led by Harry. Edward's boss and his wife were there, full of condolence and regret, assuring Chris that Edward had been valued, was missed. Chris spent quite some time chatting to them.

One person lingered behind when the others left; Shirley, the office administrator, who approached Chris cautiously. She was carrying a gym bag, and Chris recognized it with a pang of nostalgia; it was Edward's bag, one he had kept at work.

"I cleared out Edward's desk. These are his personal possessions." She handed it to him.

It hadn't occurred to Chris that Edward would have had anything at work worth passing on. "Um, thanks."

He peered into the gym bag. Coffee mug, key ring, a few trinkets. Sneakers and some jogging sweats--Edward had kept a set at work, tried to go for a run at lunchtimes sometimes. The clothes were clean and laundered, but Chris reached in anyway, picked up a T-shirt and brought it to his face. He breathed in briefly, warm, cozy scents of familiar soap.

He was being silly, and in front of Shirley, too. Chris glanced into the bag again and saw a smart wooden box that he recognized. He scooped it out, and opened the lid, to reveal a perfect set of draftsman pens, all present and correct.

"I gave him this..." Chris remembered. It had been a Christmas present several years ago.

"He was always losing pens." Shirley smiled a little. "But never any of those. He did mislay one once when it rolled off under his desk, turned the office upside down looking for it...."

Chris smiled back painfully.

"There was also this," Shirley said hesitantly, and produced a large flat package wrapped in brown paper. Chris took it and pulled away the paper, and there was a drawing in a frame. Chris sucked in his breath sharply. The drawing was of their house.

Edward had always claimed to be a draftsman rather than an artist, insistent that his creativity was in the architectural design rather than in the drawings he produced. But... this was a _beautiful _drawing. It showed their home from a viewpoint out at sea, and as Chris looked at it he remembered Edward wading out knee-deep into the waves with a sketchpad in hand, turning round to get the view. The house had only just been finished at that time, and looking at the drawing Chris could see features were missing that hadn't yet been built then; the pool, the barbecue, the landscaping.

Edward had barely even sketched out surrounding detail, apart from the shoreline and horizon, and the driveway arching down from the road. All the effort was put into the house, the roof tiles, the lines of the windows, the handles on the doors. It was in pencil, some areas clouded with shading, others blank apart from sharp lines demarcating features.

"I haven't seen this before," Chris whispered. "Where was it?"

"Rolled up and stuck at the back of a drawer," Shirley explained. "Looked like he'd forgotten it was there. I had it flattened and framed. Almost all his drawings were for work, of course, so I had to keep 'em, file 'em away in the company files, but this... I knew it was your house, and I knew he built it before he came to work with us. So I figured it belongs to you."

"Thank you." Chris had no other words. He knew that Edward would have been dismissive of this drawing as _not art_. That didn't matter. Chris would always have treasured this drawing, whenever it had surfaced, and it was much more poignant now. He decided immediately that he would put it in his office at the club, where he would see it from his desk. When he could bear to go back there.

* * *

If the visitation had been unexpectedly positive, the funeral service the next day was as grim as Chris had feared. His own grief was sharpened by having Edward's family close by. They had come to the visitation but not stayed long, and there had been a sufficient number of people milling around that Chris had not had to talk to them much--Linus had graciously taken them off Chris's hands most of the time. Also Edward's boss and his wife had spent quite a while telling his parents they should be very proud of their son.

But the funeral service was different; much smaller, close friends and family only in attendance. Supported by Linus and Bob, one on each side, Chris tried to blot out everything happening around him and stay numb. Linus gave a eulogy, and Ellie too, but Chris simply didn't let himself hear or think a thing. Because if he allowed himself feel the slightest emotion, he feared he would simply crumple up on the spot.

After the service, over a small food and drink buffet, Chris had to make some polite conversation with Edward's family, and it was torturous. Edward's Mom and Dad looked simply shattered, as if all the stuffing had been knocked out of them. Ellie, having gotten through the ordeal of her eulogy, was red-eyed and weepy.

Worse, there was Claudia and her disapproval to contend with. It was a very simple, non-religious, short service at the funeral home, followed by a cremation, as Edward had wished. Claudia would most assuredly not have chosen such a service, and let him know that through terse, tight-lipped words. Not for the first time, Chris was grateful that he and Edward had sewn up the legal side of their relationship as tightly as they could.

When he realized she was actually playing the grieving widow, he couldn't listen, couldn't bear to be in the same room as her. He left the room, walked out of the building, striding away from the crematorium towards the rows of gravestones. His hand in his pocket clutched at the champagne cork, as he tried to stay calm, tried not to let his anger and sadness erupt.

He heard footsteps hurrying after him, and then Linus dropped into step next to him. "Ignore her."

"Can't," Chris muttered, striding between banks of graves. He arrived at the most recent headstones, and stopped, and stared in surprise. There was a stone set up for Edward, and a most enormous bouquet of flowers, which Chris didn't recognize. The flowers were arranged to form shapes, seven letters: 'HUSBAND'.

Chris stared at the flowers for a moment. He felt all the color drain from his face, and his stomach lurched, as if he was about to be sick. Linus grabbed his arm. "Are you okay?"

"What the--" Chris gestured helplessly.

"You have to ignore her," Linus hissed. "You can't let her spoil it for you."

Too late for that: Chris couldn't stand to be there a moment longer. He headed back to the crematorium to collect the urn of ashes that he had every right to, and Claudia none. He also made sure to get the ring, which had been removed from Edward's body before the cremation; _his _ring, the ring he'd given to Edward at his proposal on the beach. And then he went home.

A couple of days after the funeral, Chris and Linus went back to look at the headstone. As they approached it, they saw that Claudia's flowers were still there, and a fresh matching bunch in water in a vase. Chris turned and started walking away as soon as he saw them.

Linus lingered a little, then caught up with Chris. "I suppose it would be in appalling bad taste to put the widow's flowers in the trash."

"Yeah." Chris felt nothing, nothing at all for the headstone; it had been desecrated, defiled. He suspected there would be a never-ending stream of bouquets from Claudia, claiming in his death what she hadn't been able to claim in life. He was only glad that Edward's ashes weren't buried there. "Let's go."

* * *

After the funeral, there seemed no reason to live anymore. It was as if his soul had just about stayed in one piece while formalities needed to be done. But now all that was over, Chris was just a walking talking void. He spent days and weeks at home, endless hours sitting at Edward's desk, looking at Edward's things, his drawings, his pens, his handwriting on even the most banal scribblings.

He played a lot with the beer mat Edward had been doodling on at the golf club, as if contact with one of the last things Edward had touched might bring him closer. Sometimes Chris found he'd been sitting for many hours without noticing time pass at all.

The urn of ashes sat on the desk, too; Chris knew it was morbid, but he didn't know what to do with them. He had vague thoughts of scattering them at sea or up a mountain or... anywhere, really. He put the framed photograph of Edward in the living room, giving it pride of place; it was something else he could look at for hours on end.

Linus had gone back to his own home now but he still visited, forced Chris to eat occasionally, but no food tasted of anything. Chris found some solace in a whisky glass and comfort in nicotine, and nothing else. The Harley languished in the garage, unscathed by its experience, and sometimes Chris went out and sat on it, because he still loved it; but the thought of riding it left him nauseated.

He managed to deal with work, just. Bob, Brandon, Tony and his other managers were perfectly capable of running things themselves, consulting his attorney and accountant as necessary. Chris found himself occasionally hauled out to sign documents or write checks. He didn't query a thing. They might have all been robbing him blind for all he knew; he didn't care any more.

* * *

Linus arrived one day and declared he was taking Chris out for a drive; Chris couldn't be bothered to refuse. After they'd been driving for a while, though, Chris realized with alarm they were heading towards the cemetery. He didn't think he could cope with seeing any more bouquets.

"Linus--"

"Don't worry, we're not going there," Linus said.

They drove past the crematorium and down another road, where a parking lot had been newly marked out. Chris got out of the car and looked around. They had arrived at a garden. A garden in the process of being laid out, over a large area, several acres perhaps.

"This," Linus spread his arm, "is going to be a memorial garden. Geoff found people wanted someplace quiet and beautiful to go to after the crematorium, so he bought this land and he's creating this garden."

They walked through the garden, Linus leading the way. There were formal pathways around neatly grassed lawns, trim shrubs and small fountains; there was also an artistically managed wilderness with a rock garden, a running stream, and tall, mature trees. Quiet spots and sheltered benches abounded. Linus paused in an area which was unfinished, only partly planted out. Bare earth beds had been dug, and trees and shrubs were stacked up in tubs, awaiting planting.

"Here we are going to plant a tree," Linus announced.

"A tree? Oh Linus, come on..." Chris's voice died away.

"I know you can't grieve at that soulless gravestone, fuck, who could? So we are going to plant a tree." Linus pointed at a space in the ground. "I have made a generous donation to the cemetery, and Geoff has reserved this place for a tree for Edward. We will plant it, and you will put a plaque by it, and then you will have a proper memorial to him that you can bear to look at."

Chris stared around the garden, heard birds singing and water running, looked up at the treetops, and knew that Edward would have loved it.

* * *

They returned the next day with the urn of ashes. A small sapling was waiting, and a gardener had partially dug the hole. Chris took a spade and finished the job. They put the tree in the ground, and Linus held the trunk still while Chris emptied the urn, scattering the ashes around the tree roots. He then filled it in, piling up the earth all around the trunk, digging vigorously until beads of sweat rolled down his forehead and mingled with the salty tears that were running down from the corner of his eyes.

This, Chris knew, was the essence of Edward, living and breathing in the tree. The gravestone was nothing; Claudia could have it. The tree was everything.

After that, Chris made many, many trips to the garden. He got in the habit of swinging by late in the day. He would sit under the tree, smoke a long cigarette, and watch the sun go down. And as he watched the world fade away, Edward felt very close.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The well-known lines that Linus paraphrases, _Nature, red in tooth and claw _and _Better to have loved and lost/ than to never have loved at all_ are from Tennyson's _In Memoriam_. Tennyson wrote this poem after the death of his best friend Arthur Henry Hallam.
> 
> The title of this chapter, _Watching the World Fade Away_, is a line from the Communards' _For A Friend_, the most beautiful song about loss ever. [Video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I1Q4qKhAmfw) and [lyrics](http://www.musicsonglyrics.com/J/jimmysomervillelyrics/jimmysomervilleforafriendlyrics.htm).


	14. Sunrise, Sunset: Chris and Edward, Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The anniversary of Edward's death is always horrible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Pairings**: Reference to Chris/Edward, Chris/Wilson and Chris/others.

_Year 1_

As the date approaches, Chris feels weighed down with glum, desperate apprehension. He doesn't think he wants to do anything, feel anything. The final straw comes three days beforehand, when he finds a phone message from Eleanor, Edward's sister, letting him know that Mom, Dad and herself are coming down to visit the grave on the day. He really cannot cope with this.

He goes out to the garage and wheels out the Harley. He hasn't ridden it since that day almost a year ago... but he's kept it in good condition, even had it serviced a few months ago. It should be ready to ride. He gets on, starts the engine, and when it roars to life he sets off down the road and doesn't come back.

He heads south, keeping to the coast but avoiding anywhere he knows, staying well away from old haunts. He travels until he can't go on any more and crashes in a motel for a few hours, before driving on. He grabs food and coffee from gas stations and wolfs it down without tasting anything before continuing on his journey; it's just fuel. He's brought his cellphone, but he keeps it switched off. Once a day he switches it on, deletes the voicemails and messages that are stacking up without listening to or reading any of them, and then switches it off again.

The night of the anniversary, he finds himself on a remote cliff top. He camps down for the night, huddled next to the Harley. He chain smokes, sips from a cheap bottle of whiskey, and clutches at the champagne cork he keeps in his jacket pocket. He watches waves crash into rocks hundreds of feet below him,and ponders what it would be like simply to drive right off the cliff. He imagines a few seconds of glorious suspension in mid-air, followed by blissful oblivion.

Somehow he dozes off, and wakes hours later, head pounding, freezing cold and feeling stiff from head to foot. He walks around in circles for a few minutes to get his circulation going again. Then he reaches into his pocket for the cork, gathers all his energy, and hurls it off the cliff into the rolling sea below.

Amazingly, he feels a little better. He drives to the nearest motel and sleeps for the next two days.

He returns home, getting back a week after he left, to find Linus worried and angry. "Honestly, Chris, I really thought you'd gone and done something stupid. Ziggy and I were _this _close to filing a missing person's report on you."

Chris is sorry to have caused his friends worry, but has no other regrets.

* * *

_Year 2_

He functions almost entirely normally on the anniversary the second year. He drives to Rutgers in the morning for an MBA class, makes a few useful contributions and has lunch with a couple of classmates who have no idea of the significance of the day. He doesn't mention it, either.

In the afternoon he goes to the tree he planted after Edward's death, and just sits there in the memorial garden for a while. Periodically his phone rings, people checking up on him, asking how he is, inviting him round for dinner. Linus is away traveling but he's obviously left strict instructions for others. Chris is friendly and polite and says he's fine, but declines all invitations. Instead he just stays in the garden until dusk, watching the world fade away into darkness.

He eventually heads home, thinking he's rebuilt his life very well over the last year. Edward would be proud of him.

He meets Wilson a couple of months later, and things start to go backwards again.

* * *

_Year 3  
_  
Although he's split up with Wilson by the time the next anniversary comes around, Chris finds himself full of conflicting emotions; grief for Edward raging fiercely in his chest combined with regret at this failed relationship with someone who'd looked rather like him. Chris forgets House and his interference, and instead finds himself preoccupied with Wilson's physical similarity to Edward. If only he'd managed to stay with Wilson, he could have watched Edward live and age through Wilson's face.

It's ridiculous and he knows it. He takes the Harley and drives away on the night of the anniversary, to a bar where he doesn't know anyone. He picks up a guy who couldn't look more different from either Edward or Wilson--older, blond, stout, with a mustache--and gets himself ass-fucked while spreadeagled over the Harley's handlebars.

It's a temporary respite.

* * *

_Year 4_

As the fourth anniversary approaches, Chris feels his outlook is much healthier now. He's reconciled with Wilson as a friend, he's completed his MBA, Linus is in remission, and life seems positive again. He visits the tree in the afternoon and spends the evening of the anniversary at the club, chatting with friends and watching the poker game. He can feel Bob keeping an eye on him across the room.

He ignores every possible come-on, and retreats to his office at the end of the night for a surreptitious cigarette and to stare at the drawing of their house by Edward which he keeps on his wall.

* * *

_Year 5_

Linus forces him to take a vacation in the fifth year, and Chris knows it's for the best. He's discovered that Edward's family are making a pilgrimage to the grave again to mark five years, and he really doesn't want to meet them.

They travel abroad to Egypt, and Chris admires pyramids and caves and camels during the day, and smiling young men with gleaming white teeth and perfect tawny skin by night.

The night of the anniversary, Chris leaves Linus and Raul at the hotel and opts to go on an excursion by himself; climbing Mount Sinai by night to see the dawn from the top. It's a popular tourist activity and Chris finds himself in a large group, trekking doggedly up the mountain, periodically stopping for breath and to drink hot tea from roadside vendors.

They are led by a young Bedouin guide who troops merrily ahead of them, completely unaffected by the thinning air which is making all the westerners gasp and pant for breath. Chris remembers Edward's marathon-running lung capacity and thinks Edward would be managing this climb much better than he is. Chris is glad he gave up smoking the previous year, when Linus was diagnosed with cancer, although he can feel the decades of damage in every wheeze nonetheless.

It is very cold at the top of the mountain. Chris hires a blanket and sits huddled up with dozens of other people, Egyptians and tourists, waiting for the sun to rise.

It's less visually spectacular a sunrise than he'd expected, yet also more moving than he'd hoped. The day dawns very gradually, miles of mountainous terrain coming into view on all sides around them, until stark daylight shows off the amazing, evocative scenery in its full beauty.

* * *

_Year 6_

In the sixth year Chris is distracted by a lovely mop-haired imp called River who he meets on a trip to Florida, in one of Julio's clubs. Young and carefree, River has no wish to visit New Jersey so Chris stays a while in South Beach, hanging out with River's crowd of friends, enjoying the sun and the sea and the feel of River's smooth, beautiful skin under his palms.

He marks the anniversary by spending an evening on his own, sitting out on his hotel balcony watching the sun set with a decent brand of Scotch and a Cuban cigar. He remembers Edward's sexual experiments in Florida with nostalgia, and thinks Edward would approve of River's gymnastic athleticism.

* * *

_Year 7_

On the seventh anniversary, Eleanor calls to say she's coming to New Jersey to visit the gravestone, and for the first time Chris decides he is strong enough to meet her. He's helped in this decision by discovering it's just her. Edward's mom has arthritis and it's worse this last year, and as she can't travel Edward's dad is not coming either.

Ellie arrives accompanied by a boyfriend, a sultry older guy with dark eyes and a pony tail, who Chris quite takes to. They go visit the gravestone, which Chris hasn't gone to see in years, and have coffee afterwards. Over coffee Ellie chats away, and Chris is delighted to learn that Claudia has moved to Texas, a nice long way away, and gotten married again. "To a Bible-thumping oilman," Ellie confides with a smile.

She's mellowed a lot, he can see. He puts it down to the pony tailed boyfriend. Eventually she even asks after him, how's he's been getting on, is he seeing anyone? Chris hesitates and eventually explains he's had a couple of relationships over the last seven years but no, he's not seeing anyone right now.

"It's tough finding anyone who can live up to your brother," he admits, feeling rather silly.

She looks serious. "I'm sure it is. But Edward wouldn't want you to be alone, you know."

"I'm not alone," Chris insists, thinking of Linus and Bob and all his other friends... and yet, he does feel alone.

He almost tells her about the tree, but decides not to at the last moment. He's relieved afterwards that he didn't do it. Ellie is quite happy mourning at the gravestone. The tree belongs to himself and Edward.

* * *

_Year 8_

During the eighth year, New Jersey decides to allow civil unions.

Just a week ahead of the anniversary, Chris finds himself acting as a witness to Brandon and Tony in the first civil union ceremony he's been to. It's a glorious day, celebratory and exuberant, and he's really happy for his friends, but Chris feels hollow afterwards. He knows if Edward was still alive, and divorced, that would have been them up there, pledging their commitment, _'til death us do part_...

He and Edward had started wearing rings in their last year together. Chris had stopped wearing his shortly after Edward's death. Now he wonders if he should have continued to wear it. Would a widower abandon his wedding ring? He doesn't think so.

He goes home and finds his ring. He puts it on to visit the tree, and carries on wearing it afterwards. Linus rolls his eyes when he notices, but doesn't say anything.

* * *

_Year 9_

When the ninth anniversary rolls around, Chris has to explain the significance of the day to his new boyfriend, Matt. Matt works at the marina down the coast where Chris and Linus keep their cabin cruiser. Chris doesn't want to talk about Edward any more than he has to, and explains briefly that he's going to spend the afternoon in the memorial garden.

He's there late that day when Matt appears in the garden. Chris stiffens immediately: he doesn't go to the tree with anyone, except Linus occasionally. He doesn't want to share these moments of Edward-closeness with anyone.

Matt arrives next to him and raises an eyebrow. "This is not healthy."

"I'm not talking about this now." Chris is terse. "Not here. Not in this garden--"

"This guy died nine years ago?" Matt demands. "I don't want to be unsympathetic or anything, but you really need to get over it--"

_"Fuck--off!"_ Chris leaps to his feet, pulls back a fist and socks Matt on the nose.

He surprises even himself, and is immediately horrified by what he's done. He's never in his life hit anyone he's cared about before.

Matt turns on his heel and leaves, covering his nose with a bloodstained handkerchief and saying in a muffled tone, "Nine fucking years? You really are screwed up, you know."

Chris sits down again and regrets his action bitterly, sorry that he's letting this ancient grief affect his new relationship. He remembers that his affair with Wilson ended partly because he could not put Edward behind him. He doesn't want to make the same mistake again. Before he met Matt he'd been quite desperately lonely, feeling older and miserable about being on his own for the rest of his life.

He goes to apologize to Matt. He finds Matt is also conciliatory and apologetic. "I didn't know you felt so strongly about it." Beat. "Though I still think you need to get over it."

Chris laughs a little, and agrees soberly that he probably does.

* * *

_Year 10_

"I don't think you should go to the tree this year," says Matt.

Chris stares in surprise.

"You're doing so well," Matt insists. "I don''t want to see you getting upset again. It'll undo all that work."

This is...probably true. Chris has tried really hard not to dwell on Edward over the last year. He hasn't visited the tree very often. He's stopped wearing the ring--he wanted to do that anyway, as he didn't want people thinking he was wearing it for Matt. He's even taken down the photograph of Edward that had been prominent in the living room; he can't bring himself to get rid of it so he's put it in a closet.

He's trying hard to make things work with Matt, lavishing lots of time and care and attention, and money, on his gruff, straight-talking boyfriend. He's resisting letting Matt move in with him--that would be a _big_ step--but in other ways he's trying to show he's committed to making this relationship work.

But this is a significant anniversary, and he's not skipping this year. "It's been ten years. _Ten_. I'm not going to just ignore it!"

He does go to the garden, and Matt doesn't dare follow him this time. But Chris doesn't spend as long there as he'd hoped. He sits underneath the tree, staring upwards into the branches, and wonders what Edward would make of Matt. He's got an uncomfortable feeling that Edward wouldn't like him. Linus doesn't like Matt, which is a real problem for Chris. Linus and Raul are away at the moment in Australia, but before leaving Linus refused point blank to help Chris change his will in Matt's favor. "And don't do anything while I'm away, either. Give it time, there's no hurry, we'll discuss it when I'm back."

Within a few months, after an unexpected intervention from House, Chris has broken up with Matt. He feels both relieved and more alone than ever.

* * *

_And a future year_

As the anniversary approaches again, Chris finds himself fumbling about what to do.

He is sure Brian must know all about Edward; Brian spends too many hours gossiping with Linus for Linus not to have told him everything. Linus and Brian get on like a house afire, for which Chris is glad.

Chris has become good friends with this shy, quirky guy Brian over the preceding months, and now it's turned into something more. It's not all plain sailing, they've still got some things to figure out, but Chris thinks he loves this man with the wire-framed glasses, the uneven features and the funny little beard. Brian sings like a bull frog, bakes like an angel, and thinks he can fix things around the house--when in fact Chris keeps finding himself smuggling in plumbers and repairmen when Brian's back is turned, to mend what Brian's fixed.

Brian is sweet natured, has a vivid and eccentric imagination, can be unexpectedly focused and driven for such a quiet guy, and he's got a wry sense of humor that makes Chris laugh. Chris has found himself sharing a lot with Brian; his life, his friends, his bed. But Chris is holding back on this one thing; he has avoided talking to Brian about Edward, he hasn't alluded to the upcoming anniversary. He doesn't think he can cope with a negative reaction.

The day before the anniversary, Chris just gets on his bike and leaves. He doesn't leave a note, doesn't leave a message, doesn't know what to say. Maybe he's screwing up this relationship when it's barely begun, but right now he can't help it.

Forty-eight hours later, he returns home in the middle of the night to find Brian is there, asleep in his bed. Chris finds himself trying to sneak in next to him, trying not to wake him. Brian wakes up enough to mumble, "You're an idiot." Then he wraps his arms around Chris and goes back to sleep.

The next day Chris gets up the courage to begin to say over breakfast in the kitchen, "Look, I should tell you--"

Brian grabs his arm and says, "You don't need to tell me anything. You have never let him go. You never will. That's why I trust you. You never let go."

And with those words something finally falls into place for Chris, something he's been striving to find for more than ten years.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank-you to everyone who has been following this with me.
> 
> I had no idea I was going to write this when I finished Chris/Edward, but hope it works to fill in the gap in Chris's life between Edward &amp; Brian. Plot bunny and the character of Brian supplied courtesy of [](http://hickman1937.livejournal.com/profile)[**hickman1937**](http://hickman1937.livejournal.com/).
> 
> This fic refers in passing to Wilson's relationship with Chris in [The Story of Chris](http://archiveofourown.org/works/68501/chapters/90382), their reconciliation as friends in [A House Distracted](http://archiveofourown.org/works/71674/chapters/94906) and House's demolition of Chris's relationship with Matt in [Enough of the Deja Vu](http://archiveofourown.org/works/71698/chapters/94935).


End file.
